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1 



THE ALTO STOOD LOOKING STEADILY AT DOT. 





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MMllsiiii 

«=a2^-<S< ■ :i. 


HOW DOT HEARD 


“THE MESSIAH’’ 


HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH 

And other stories by famous authors 



D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 

32 FRANKLIN STREET 

\ , ^ 



Copyright, 1882. 

D. Lothrop & Company. 





1 


\ 

> 

' HOW DOT HEARD “THE 
MESSIAH.” 

T he church was vast and dim. The air was fra- 
grant with pine boughs, and over the golden 
cross of the chancel hung heavy wreaths of box and 
fir. A solitary light shone in front of the organ. 

Little feet were heard on the stairs leading to the 
orchestra. A door in the organ case opened quietly 
and was about to close, when a voice was heard : 

‘‘ Is that you, Dot ? ” 

Yes, sir.’^ 

“ What makes you come so early ? It is nearly an 
hour before the rehearsal begins. I should think the 
little bellows room would be a rather lonely place to 
wait an hour.” 

“ I always come early,” said the boy, timidly. 

So I have noticed. Why ? ” 

Mother thinks it best.” 


How Dot Heard The Messiah T 


“ Come out here, and let me talk with you. I have 
sung in the choir nearly a year, and have hardly had 
a glimpse of you yet. Don’t be bashful I Why, all 
the music would stop if it were not for you. Dot. 
Our grandest Christmas anthem would break into 
confusion if you were to cease to blow. Come here. 
I have just arrived in the city, and have come to the 
church to wait for the hour of rehearsal. I want 
company. Come, Dot.” 

The little side door of the organ moved : a shadow 
crept along in the dim light towards the genial- 
hearted Tenor. 

“ Do you like music. Dot ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

‘‘ Is that what makes you come so long before the 
rest ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

What is it, then ? ” 

‘‘ I have a reason — mother would not like to have 
me speak of it.” 

“Do you sing?” 

“ Ye3, at home.” 

“ What do you sing ? ” 

“ The parts I hear you sing.” 

“Tenor, then? ” 


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DOT, 



How Dot Heard ‘‘ The MessiakT 


‘‘Yes/’ 

“ Will you sing for me ? ” 

“Now?” 

“Yes.” 

“ I will sing, ‘ Hark^ what mean ? ’ ” 

“ Rossini — an adaptation from Cujus AnimamT 

The boy did not understand. 

“Well,” said the Tenor, “I beat time — now, Dot.” 

A flute-like voice floated out into the empty ediflce, 
silvery, pure, rising and falling through all the melo- 
dious measures of that almost seraphic melody. The 
Tenor leaped to his feet, and stood like one entranced. 
The voice fell in wavy cadences : “ Heavenly Hallelu- 
jahs riseT Then it rose clear as a skylark, with the 
soul of inspiration in it : 

“ Hear them tell that sacred story ^ 

Hear them chant — ” 


The Tenor with a nervous motion turned on the 
gas-light. 

The boy seemed affrighted, and shrank away 
towards the little door that led to the bellows room 
“ Boy ! ” 

“Sir? ” 

“There is a fortune in that voice of yours.” 


How Dot Heard “ The MessiahT 


“Thank you, sir/’ 

“ What makes you hide behind that bench ? ” 

“You won’t tell, sir?” 

“No: I will befriend any boy with a voice like 
thatT 

The boy approached the singer and stood beside 
him. 

He said not a word, but only looked toward his 
feet. 

The Tenor’s eyes followed the boy’s. 

He saw it all, but he only said tenderly : 

“Dot!” 

A chancel door opened. An acolyte came in, bear- 
ing a long gas-lighter : he touched the chandeliers 
and they burst into flame. The cross glimmered upon 
the wall under the Christmas wreaths ; the alabaster 
font revealed its beautiful decorations of calla lilies 
and smilax •, the organ glowed with its tall pipes, and 
carvings and cherubs. 

The first flash of light in the chancel found Dot 
hidden in his little room with the door fast closed 
behind him. 

What a strange place it was I A dim light fell 
through the open carvings of the organ case. Great 
wooden pipes towered aloft with black mouths — like 


How Dot Heard The Messiah 


dragons. Far, far above in the arch was a cherub, 
without a body — a golden face with purple wings. 
Dot had looked at it for hours, and wondered. 

He sat looking at it to-night with a sorrowful face. 
There were other footsteps in the church, sounds of 
light happy voices. 

Presently the bell tinkled. The organist was on 
his bench. Dot grasped the great wooden handle ; it 
moved up and down, up and down, and then the tall 
wooden pipes with the dragon mouths began to thun- 
der around him. Then the chorus burst into a glo- 
rious strain, which Dot the year before had heard the 
organist say was the ‘‘ Midnight Mass of the Middle 
Ages : ” 


“ A deste fideles 
Laeti triumphantes^ 

Venite, 

Venite^ 

In Bethlehem ! ” 

The great pipes close at hand ceased to thunder. 
The music seemed to run far away into the distance, 
low, sweet and shadowy. There were sympathetic 
solos and tremulous chords. Then the tempest 
seemed to come back again, and the luminous arch 


How Dot Heard “ The MessiahT 


over the organ sent back into the empty church the 
jubilant chorus : 


“ Venite adoremus, 

Venite adoremusy 
Venite adoremusy 
Dominium.^’* 

After the anthem there were solos. The Tenor 
sang one of them, and Dot tried to listen to it as he 
moved the handle up and down. How sweet it 
sounded to Dot’s ears ! It came from a friendly 
heart — except his mother’s it was the only voice that 
had ever spoken a word of sympathy or praise to the 
poor bellows boy. 

The singers rested, laughed and talked. Dot lis- 
tened as usual in his narrow room. 

“ I came to the church directly from the train,” 
said the Tenor, “ and amused myself for a time with 
Dot. A wonderful voice that boy has.” 

“ Dot ? ” said the precentor. 

‘‘ Yes : the boy that blows the organ.” 

“Oh, yes, I had forgotten. I seldom see him,” 
said the precentor. Now I think of it, the sexton 
told me some weeks ago that I must get a new organ 
boy another year : he says this one — Dot you call 


How Dot Heard The Messiah, 


him ? — comes to the church through back alleys, and 
goes to the bellows room as soon as the church is 
open and hides there until service flme, and that his 
clothes are not decent to be seen in a church on Sun- 
day. Next Sunday begins the year — I must see to 
the matter.’^ 

He does his work well 'I asked the Alto with a 
touch of sympathy in her voice. 

“Yes.^’ 

“Would it not be better to get him some new 
clothes, than to dismiss him ? ’’ she asked. 

“ No. Charity is charity, and business is business. 
Everything must be first class here. We cannot have 
ragamuffins creeping into the church to do church 
work. Of course, I should be glad to have the boy 
supplied with clothes. That is another thing. But 
we must have a different person in the bellows box. 
The sexton’s son is bright, dresses well, and I have 
no doubt would be glad of the place. — Now we will 
sing the anthem, ‘ Good-will to menl ” 

The choir and chorus arose. The organist tinkled 
the bell, and bent down on the pedals and keys. 
There was a ripple of music, a succession of short 
sounds, and — silence. 

The organist touched the knob at the side of the 


How Dot Heard The Messiah T 


key-board, and again the bell tinkled. His white 
hands ran over the keys, but there issued no sound. 

He moved nervously from the bench, and opened 
the little door. 

Dot .? 

No answer. 

“ The boy is sick or faint.’’ 

The Tenor stepped into the room and brought out 
a limp figure. 

‘‘ Are you sick. Dot ? ” 

‘‘Yes, sir; what will become of mother.?” 

“ He heard what you said about dismissing him,” 
said the Alto to the precentor. 

“ Yes, but the sexton was right. Look at his shoes 
— why, his toes are sticking through them.” 

“And this bitter weather!” said the Alto, feel- 
ingly. 

“ Can you blow. Dot ? ” 

“ No, sir ; it is all dark, sir. I can’t see, sir. I 
can’t but just stand up, sir. You won’t dismiss me, 
sir, mother is lame and poor, sir — paralyzed, sir: 
that’s what they call it — can’t use but one hand, 
sir.” 

“This ends the rehearsal,” said the precentor in 
an impatient way. “ Dot, you needn’t come to-mon 


How Dot Heard “ The Messiah: 


row, nor till I send for you. Here’s a dollar, Dot — 
charity — Christmas present.” 

One by one the singers went out, the precentor 
bidding the sexton have a care that Dot was sent 
home. 

The Alto and the Tenor lingered. Dot was re- 
covering. 

I shall not hear the music to-morrow. I do love 
it so.” 

You poor child, you shall have your Christmas 
music to-morrow, and the best the city affords. Do 
you know where Music Hall is, Dot ? ” 

Yes, lady.” 

‘‘ There is to be an oratorio there to-morrow even- 
ing — The Messiah, It is the grandest ever composed, 
and no singing in America is equal to it. There is 
one chorus called the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ — it is 
wonderful : the man who composed it thought he 
heard the angels singing and saw the Lord of Heaven, 
when he was at work upon it ; and he is to be the first 
tenor singer, and I am to sing the altos — wouldn’t 
you like to go. Dot 1 ” 

“Yes, lady. Is the man who composed it to be 
the tenor singer — the one who heard the angels 
pinging, and thought he saw the Lord ? ” 


How Dot Heard The MessiahT 


“ No, Dot : he is to be the tenor singer.” 

‘‘ /, Dot,” said the Tenor. 

“ I have a ticket for the upper gallery, which I will 
give him,” said the Alto. “ A friend of mine bought 
it, but I gave her a seat on the floor, and kept this 
for — well, for Dot.” 

The Tenor talked low with the lady. 

“ Here is a Christmas present. Dot.” He handed 
Dot a bill. 

“ And here is one for your mother,” said the Alto, 
giving Dot a little roll of money. 

Dot was better now. He looked bewildered at his 
new fortune. 

‘‘ Thank you, lady. Thank you, sir. Are you 
able ? ” The Alto laughed. 

‘‘Yes, Dot. I am to receive a hundred dollars 
for singing to-morrow evening. I shall try to think 
of you. Dot, when I am rendering one of the pas- 
sages — perhaps it will give me inspiration. I shall 
see you. Dot — under the statue of Apollo.” 

The sexton was turning off the lights in the chan- 
cel. He called Dot. The church grew dimmer and 
dimmer, and the great organ faded away in the dark- 
ness. In the vanishing lights the Alto and Tenor 
went out of the church, leaving Dot with the sexton. 


How Dot Heard “ The Messiah T 


It was Sabbath evening — Christmas. 

Lights glimmered thickly among the snowy trees 
on the Common ; beautiful coaches were rolling 
through the crowded streets. 

Dot entered Music Hall timidly through a long 
passage through which bright, happy faces were pass- 
ing, silks rustling, aged people moving sedately and 
slowly, and into which the crowds on the street 
‘seemed surging like a tide. Faces were too eager 
with expectation to notice hmi or his feet. At last he 
passed a sharp angle in the long passage, and the 
great organ under a thousand gas-jets burst upon his 
view. An usher at one of the many lower doors 
looked at his ticket doubtfully : 

‘‘ Second gallery — back.” 

Dot followed the trailing silks up the broad flights 
of stairs, reached the top, and asked another usher 
to show him his seat. The young man whom Dot 
addressed had that innate refinement of feeling that 
marks a true Boston gentleman. He gave Dot a 
smile, as much as to say, I am glad you can enjoy 
all this happiness with the rest,” and said : 

‘‘ Follow me.” 

His manner was so kind that Dot thought he 
would like to speak to him again. He remembered 


How Dot Heard The MessiahT 


what the Alto had said about the statue of Apollo, 
and as the usher gave him back his check and pointed 
to the number on the check and the seat, Dot said : 

“ Will you please tell me, sir, which is the statue of 
Apollo ? ’’ 

The usher glanced at the busts and statues along 
the wall. He spoke kindly : 

That is the Apollo Belvedere.” 

Dot thought that a pretty name ; it did not convey 
to his mind any association ^of the Vatican palace, 
but he knew that some beautiful mystery was con- 
nected with it. 

And now Dot gazes in amazement on the scene 
before him. In the blaze of light the great organ 
rises resplendently, sixty feet in height, its imposing 
fagade hiding from view its six thousand pipes. Peo- 
ple are hurrying into the hall, flitting to and fro ; 
young ladies in black silks and velvets and satins ; 
old men — where were so many men with white hair 
ever seen before ? stately men with thin faces, bald — 
teachers, college professors. Tiers of seats in the 
form of half a pyramid rise at either end of the 
organ. These are filling with the chorus — sopranos 
and altos in black dresses and white shawls, tenors 
and basses in black coats, white neck-ties and kids. 



POT HAS NEVER HEARD SUCH MUSI C BEFORE, 


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ffow Dot Heard “ The Messiah T 


In front, between the great chorus, rises a dark statue, 
and around this, musicians are gathering — players on 
violins, violas, violoncellos, contra basses, flutes, oboes, 
bassoons, trumpets, trombones, horns ; the pyramidal 
seats fill ; the hall overflows ; the doors are full, the 
galleries. The instruments tune. A dark-haired man 
steps upon the conductor’s stand, he raises his baton ; 
there is a hush, then half a hundred instruments 
pour forth the symphony. 

Dot listens. He has never heard such music be- 
fore ; he did not know that anything like it was ever 
heard on earth. It grows sweeter and sweeter : 

“ Comfort ye.^^ 


Did an angel speak ? The instruments are sweeter 
now : 


Comfort ye my people. 


Did that voice come from the air ? 

Dot listens and wonders if this is earth : 


Comfort ye^ comfort ye my people saith your God, saith your 
God:^ 


Dot sees a tall man standing alone — in front of 
the musicians — is it he that is singing ? Dot gazes 


How Dot Heard The Messiah T 


upon his face with wide eyes. It is he — and he is 
the Tenor who had befriended him the night before. 

What music followed when the chorus arose and 
sang : 


“ Every valley shall be exalted I ” 

Dot hears the grand music sweep on, and he feels, 
as all feel, that the glorious Messiah is about to ap- 
pear. He sees a lady in white satin and flashing 
jewels step forward : he hears a ripple of applause, 
and a voice full of strength and feeling sings : 

“ O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion^ Othou that tellest good 
tidings to Jerusalem^ say unto the cities of Judah^ Behold your 
Godr' 

Dot knows that voice. Will she indeed lift her 
eyes to him ? 

No, she does not She sits down, the hall ringing 
with applause. She rises, bows, but she does not 
look towards the statue of Apollo, near which Dot is 
sitting. 

Dot hears dreamy music now, more enchanting 
than any before it. The great audience do not stir, 
or move a fan, or raise a glass. It grows more ethe- 


Ho7v Dot Heard “ The Messiah. 


real ; it seems now but a wavy motion in the air. He 
hears a lady near whisper : 

“ The Pastoral symphony.'^ 

The Alto has risen again. She stands out from 
the great chorus — what a beautiful figure ! The dark- 
haired man lifts his baton : the lady turns her face 
toward the upper gallery. Her eyes wander for a 
moment ; they rest on — ■ Dot. 

There was no applause now. Tears stood in the 
Alto’s eyes — tears stood in the eyes of every one. 
There was a deep hush and tears, and in the silence 
the Alto stood looking steadily at — Dot. 

There was a rustle in the hall — it grew. The si- 
lence was followed by a commotion that seemed to 
rock the hall. The applause gathered force like a 
tempest. 

Then the beautiful lady looked towards Dot, and 
sang again the same wonderful air, and all the hall 
grew still, and people’s eyes were wet again. 

The Hallelujah Chorus with its grand fugues was 
sung, the people rising and standing with bowed 
heads during the majestic outpouring of praise. 


It is ended now — faded and gone. The great 


How Dot Heard “ The McssiahT 


organ stands silent in the dark hall ; the coaches 
have rolled away, the clocks are striking midnight. 

“ I have come to congratulate you before retiring,” 
said our Tenor to the Alto, as he stepped into the 
parlor of the Revere House. “To-night has been 
the triumph of your life. Nothing so moved the 
audience as He shall feed his flock like a shepherdT 

“ Do you know to what I owed the feeling that so 
inspired me in that air ? ” 

“No.” 

“ It was poor little Dot in the gallery. You teach 
music, do you not ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ You are about to open a school } ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Give Dot a place as office boy — errand boy — 
something. It will lift a weight from my heart.” 

“ I had thought of it. He has a beautiful voice.” 

“ I might get him a place in a choir.” 

Fifteen years have passed. The old Handel and 
Haydn Society have sung The Messiah fifty, perhaps 
sixty times. The snows of December are again 
on the hills. The grand oratorio is again rehearsing 
for the Sabbath evening before Christmas. 


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How Dot Heard ‘‘ The Messiah T 


A new tenor is to sing on the occasion — he was 
born in Boston, has studied in Milan, and has achieved 
great triumphs as an interpreter of sacred music in 
London and Berlin. 

The old hall is filled again. The symphony has 
begun its dulcet enchantment ; the Tenor, with a face 
luminous and spiritual, arises, and with his first notes 
thrills the audience and holds it as by a spell : 

“ Comfort ye:' 

He thought of the time when he first heard those 
words. He thought of the hearts whose kindness 
had made him a singer. Where were they } ’’ Their 
voices had vanished from the choirs of earth, but in 
spirit those sweet singers seemed hovering around 
him. 

“ Comfort ye my people." 

He looked, too, towards the Apollo on the wall. 
He recalled the limp bellows boy who had sat there 
sixteen years ago. How those words then comforted 
him ! How he loved to sing them now ! 

“ Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem^ and cry unto her that her 
warfare is accomplished^ that her iniquity is pardoned." 


It was Dot. 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY- 
FIVE DOLLARS. 


WENTY-FIVE dollars! what a lot of money! 



what a heap of it ! ’’ shouted Alice, in a little 
ecstacy, which she couldn’t possibly restrain. 

There was no need of her trying to restrain it. 
Twenty-five dollars is a sum of money which does 
not come every day even to rich boys and girls. 
And to Alice Brown it had never come at all before. 
Not even once. Indeed, she had never known the 
time when she had more than a dollar. And to have 
twenty-five dollars, all her own, all at one time, all 
to spend as she pleased, or not to spend if she pleased, 
was enough to quite turn her head. 

It was too good to believe. 

“ Are you quite sure ? ” asked Mrs. Brown of Mr. 
Brown. “ Quite sure she’ll get it } That there’s no 
mistake about it ? ” 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


‘‘Quite sure/^ replied Mr. Brown, showing her a 
letter. “ Lawyer Wiseman has just written. Yen 
know Alice was always a favorite with Miss Plimp- 
kins.” 

Miss Plimpkins was an old lady who had lived in 
the Brown family for a year or two when Alice was a 
small child, and she had been very fond of Alice 
indeed. Now she was dead, and she had left Alice 
a present in the shape of twenty-five dollars. 

“ What’ll you do with it ? ” asked Mr. Brown of 
Alice. “ What’ll you do with so much money?” 

Alice was sitting at the table with a piece of paper 
and pencil in her hand. She was trying to think how 
twenty-five dollars would look. She was wondering, 
when the money came, whether she would like it in 
two tens and a five, or five fives, or twenty-five ones. 
She was just deciding on the twenty-five ones, because 
they would look so much bigger than the others, when 
her father spoke. 

“ That’s what I’m thinking of ! ” said Alice with 
sparkling eyes. “ There are so many things ! ” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Brown, “so many things. Only 
be sure and get the right ones.” 



■i' 

K 








SHE WAS TRYING TO THINK HOW TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS WOULD 

LOOK. 







HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


There’s no danger ! ” cried Alice, flying out of the 
room up stairs to look over her collection of valuables. 

And to tell the truth there wasn’t much danger, for 
Alice had had so little money she knew how to value 
it, and wouldn’t be likely to spend it foolishly. 

But anyhow, foolishly or not, Alice began to spend 
the twenty-five dollars right away. 

In her own room, Alice saw a little shelf of books 
with faded covers, and a few cheap prints without 
any frames ; in one of the bureau drawers was a 
scanty lot of ribbons ; and the one plain gold ring 
her father had given her looked very, very plain to 
her just then. 

“ I’ll have some books the first thing ! ” said Alice 
to herself ; and she immediately took down three or 
four of the oldest ones to make room for Grimm's 
Tales ^ Leslie Goldthwaite and the rest of Mrs. 
Whitney’s books, and Alice's Adventures in Wonder- 
land, She had always wondered what that other 
Alice’s adventures could be ! 

There ! ” she exclaimed, with her head on one 
side to get the effect of the new bindings better. 
“You’re mine after all ! ” 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 

Next I’ll have a picture ! ” and Alice looked 
quite disapprovingly at the old prints that hung on 
the walls. ‘‘ Let me see ! that large colored picture 
they called ‘ Penelope.’ I’ll have that.” 

To tell the truth, the lovely face of little “ Penelope ” 
in her quaint cap had never once gone out of Alice’s 
memory since she saw it hanging in the art store in 
all its magnificence of blue frame. How she had 
loved it and longed for it ! But it had been as far 
beyond her reach as the moon. She had not even 
dared ask the price of it. 

‘‘ This is the best place for it,” said Alice, taking 
down one of the old prints, and deciding that the 
new comer should hang there. And she actually 
kissed the imaginary ‘‘ Penelope ” in an intense little 
rapture of admiration. 

Then she went to her bureau and opened the 
ribbon-drawer. What a poor little collection of rib- 
bons it was, to be sure ! 

Now I’ll have a cardinal-red sash !” cried Alice, 
and her heart fairly bounded and sang with the new- 
ness and splendor of the idea. She took out an old 
roll of cheap ribbon, very narrow and faded, and tied 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


it round her to see how many yards of the cardinal 
it would take. She turned round and round before 
the glass to make sure. 

Sp-lendid ! ’’ cried Alice, dancing up and down 
the room, quite the same as if she had the sash on. 
‘‘ Oh you dear Miss Plimpkins ! ” 

Just then her mother opened the door and looked 
in. “ What’s the matter, my dear ? asked she, 
hearing the noise. “Come; Jenny Allingham. is 
here. She’s come to spend the afternoon with you.” 

So Alice took off the narrow old ribbon, and ran 
down stairs to see her friend just as if nothing had 
happened — just as if she hadn’t been buying books 
and pictures and ribbons. 

Late in the afternoon when the two girls had 
swung, and played “Authors,” and beaten each other 
in croquet, they sat down in a snug corner of the 
piazza to talk. 

“Jenny,” began Alice, very mysteriously, “if you 
had twenty-five dollars, what would you do with it ? ” 
She hadn’t said a word about it before ; and she 
didn’t tell now, “I’m only supposing, you know/’ 
said she. 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


Twenty-five dollars! ’’ exclaimed Jenny in aston- 
ishment, for she had never had half or quarter 
that. 

‘‘Why, I’d get heaps o’ things.” 

“ Yes, I know,” urged Alice. “ But what; just tell 
what ? ” 

So Jenny began to think what. 

“Why, I’d get a hammock,” said Jenny, finally, 
who was rather slow to suggest when she was actually 
pinned down to it. 

“ Oh, yes, I never thought of that 1 ” exclaimed 
Alice, and she instantly had a vision of a girl about 
her own size lounging in a hammock, and reading 
the “ Adventures hi Wondeidand.^^ 

“And a necklace,” continued Jenny, “such as 
Mary Devine wears. Gold, with the loveliest blue 
locket on it.” 

Alice’s eyes shone, but she put down the tempta- 
tion. 

“Or a beautiful cabinet like May Rogers’. Her 
aunt brought it to her from New York; and it’s just 
the loveliest thing,” sighed Jenny. 

“Yes,” said Alice, admiringly; “but tell about 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


something cheaper; something that don’t cost so 
much.” 

“Why, there’s plenty of ’em. Rings, and work- 
boxes, and thimbles, and tea-sets, and fans, — and 
everthing!” named Jenny, quite promiscuously, and 
pouncing upon each article triumphantly. 

“Yes, thank you, that’s enough,” said Alice, a 
perfect whirl of magnificent ideas going through her 
head. 

But Alice was a generous girl, and that night she 
thought half reproachfully : “ I mustn’t spend it all 
for myself, though. There’s old aunt Patty. She 
doesn’t have enough to live on, I know. I’ll spend 
five dollars of my money for her.” 

So Alice’s mind started off at once to buy 
presents for aunt Patty, — a calico dress, a pair of 
slippers, a pound of tea at the grocer’s, and ever so 
many smaller things for the old woman’s comfort. 
She even went so far as to carry the packages home, 
and quite overwhelmed the solitary old soul with the 
number and magnificence of her gifts. 

“Lor’ bless yer, chile! Don’t gib me any mo’! 
Yer won’t hab nuffin lef’ ! ” exclaimed aunt Patty, 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


showing her white teeth; and Alice went off to 
sleep with the gratitude and gladness of the poor old 
colored woman warming her heart as not even the 
cardinal sash or Jenny’s shining necklace had 
done. 

A few days later Jenny Allingham came running 
in to see Alice. 

My pa’s going to the Centennial ! ” cried she. 
“ And he’s going to take me ! I wish you could go 
with us ! ” 

Poor little Alice! she fairly trembled with the 
excitement of the idea. In an instant, down tumbled 
the new books and the lovely Penelope ; the bright 
sash ribbon faded out, with all the other beautiful 
things ; and even poor old aunt Patty was quite 
forgotten. 

O, if I only could go ! ” exclaimed Alice, dashing 
out of the room to tell her mother. 

“ But then — ” she thought. “ The money 1 ’Tisn’t 
paid yet ! And they wouldn’t wait 1 ” 

So she had to tell Jenny she couldn’t go ; but the 
new idea set her imagination on fire, and for a week 
Alice did nothing but read about the great fair at 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


Philadelphia. She looked up all the old papers that 
gave accounts of it, and sitting in her own little 
room at home, wandered with the newspaper re- 
porters through the vast buildings in Fairmount 
Park, and saw the thousands of wonderful, beautiful 
and useful things collected there. 

But reading about the great exhibition so much 
set her thinking about the different countries repre- 
sented there, and Alice began to travel. Away 
over the seas sailed her thoughts, to Europe, and 
Japan, and India. She rode through the beautiful 
streets of Paris, climbed the old tower of London, 
saw the glorious cathedrals, and sailed on Lake 
Geneva. 

Then the oranges she ate ! the spices she smelled 
and the sandalwoods ! the queerly-dressed people 
she saw, and the oddly-built houses! 

For a time Alice went abroad in this manner regu- 
larly every day, and every day she brought home a 
cargo of precious things. But wherever she went, 
and whatever she saw, she never for an hour forgot 
the twenty-five dollars. 

“ I wonder when it’ll be paid! ” said she, one morn- 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


ing about a month after her father had received the 
letter. 

Just then her father came in from the post-office, 
and he had a letter in his hand. 

‘‘ It’s from Lawyer Wiseman,” said he, looking at 
Alice. 

“ Oh goody, goody ! ” shouted Alice. “ The 
money’s come ! ” 

‘‘No, it hasn’t,” said Mr. Brown, soberly; “it 
hasn’t come, and it isn’t coming. Miss Plimpkin’s 
friends didn’t like the will, and they’ve broken it and 
he threw the letter down on the table. 

This was a thunderbolt indeed. 

“ Oh ! oh ! oh !” groaned poor Alice, and the tears 
dropped down her cheeks in a perfect shower. 

“Never mind, my dear, cheer up,” said Mrs. 
Brown, who was sadly disappointed too. “ Cheer 
up ! you’re as well off as you were before.” 

But Alice wouldn’t cheer up or be comforted. 
It was too sudden, too unexpected, too dread- 
ful. 

But the next morning when Alice woke, the sun 
was shining, the birds were singing, and the day was 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


very beautiful. A beautiful day does something to 
make one happy. 

“ I am as well off as I was before,’’ said Alice at 
the breakfast-table. 

“ Yes,” replied her mother, smiling, “you are 
better off.” 

Alice looked up inquiringly. 

“ You’ve had so many pleasant thoughts, you 
know,” explained Mrs. Brown. 

Alice remembered the new books and the lovely 
“ Penelope,” and she smiled back again. 

“ And the sash ! ” added her mother, who had seen 
her with the old ribbon round her waist. 

“ Yes,” said Alice, remembering how she had 
loved the color and the softness and the shine of the 
silk girdle. 

“Then all the beautiful things Jenny Allingham 
told about ! ” thought she. 

“ And the presents for aunt Patty ! ” suggested 
her mother. “ Poor thing ! she’ll never know how 
happy you made her.” 

Mr. Brown hadn’t heard about this, but he had 
seen Alice reading about the exhibition in the papers 


HOW ALICE SPENT TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. 


“ You almost went to the Centennial, too, didn’t you ? ” 
said he. 

“ And to Europe ! ” shouted Alice, who was now 
almost glad she had been disappointed. 

‘‘ All this for twenty-five dollars ! ” cried Mrs. 
Brown with enthusiasm. 

“ And a twenty-five dollars that never came ! ” 
added Mr. Brown triumphantly. 

And poor Alice wildly clapped her hands, declar- 
ing she should never, never again spend twenty-five 
dollars so delightfully. 


HOW THE TWINS CAMPED 
OUT. 

T he twins sat on a bench in the back porch, 
looking solemnly at each other. 

“Planning mischief,^’ Nora said, when she saw 
them from the kitchen window. 

They looked very much alike. Both had round 
healthy faces, with light curling hair, and they wore 
blue knickerbockers much soiled at the knee. They 
behaved very much alike also. Otis said they were 
twins all but one thing : they were not brothers. 

Alexander Vietts Griswald Greene was seven years 
old. 

Otis White was eight. 

The boy with the long name invented mischief, 
and the other was a committee of ways and means. 


HOW THE TWINS CAMPED OUT. 


As an executive officer, he was a complete success. 

It was understood that they were needed only half 
a day at either house ; so it made little difference 
which side of the garden they spent the morning 
and took dinner — they were expected by the other 
much-enduring family in the afternoon. 

“ I don^ t feel very tired,” said Otis, “ but your 
papa told me we had worked enough, for one sum- 
mer, and he wished we would rest at least a week. 
But I don’t know how to rest.” 

“ Oh, I do,” said Ally ; “ uncle Ned did it last sum- 
mer at Ranger’s Lakes. That is so far away they 
have not begun to have Sundays yet, papa said. 
Uncle Ned was tired out, and he went up there and 
camped out, slept on hay, and ate fish. He said it 
was as good as play to get their own supper. I don’t 
think they had breakfast or dinner : he only said 
supper, and I know they ate a great deal, six fish 
sometimes. We could not go there, but we might 
sleep on the hay in our barn, if you can get the 
fish.” 

“I suppose Nora would give me anything if we 
would go,” said Otis. She said when I helped her 


HOW THE TWINS CAMPED OUT. 


beat eggs and forgot to take the shell off one, that 
she wished we were in Halifax.’’ 

‘‘ Did she ? Where is Halifax ? ” inquired Ally. 

“I don’t know: a good ways, I guess, for Nora said 
she would have time to clear up for once before we 
could get back.” 

Well, ask her for the things now.” 

Two pairs of feet clattered into the Whites’ kitch- 
en, and two voices cried at the same time, “Nora, 
will you give us provisions enough to last a week ? 
We want to camp out and rest.” 

But Nora was talking with Mary in the next house, 
and did not hear them. 

“ I can’t ask mamma, because she has gone to see 
aunt Jennie,” said Otis ; “but I think she would let 
us go, and give us things.” 

“ I know she or Nora would let us have the things 
if she was here,” said Ally. 

“ We might take them, then,” said Otis, “ and tell 
about it when we come back.” 

So Otis took up the market basket and went into 
the pantry. “ I don’t see any fish,” he called, “ but 
I like chicken better.” 


HOW THE TWINS CAMPED OUT. 


The nice slices of chicken which Nora had ready 
for tea, were laid in the basket with biscuit, cake 
and cookies. A small pail of milk Otis took in ^his 
hand. 

No one saw the little bandits as they left the 
kitchen and went over into Mr. Greene’s barn. 

They climbed into the loft, and put the basket in a 
safe place, while they scooped out a hollow in the 
hay for a bed. This bed looked narrow, and they 
lay down to try it. The hay was soft and fragrant. 
It rustled drowsily under their heads. 

They soon remembered that they were camping 
out when they awoke in the hay just before dark, 
feeling as if they were very far from home. 

It was delightful. Why had they never thought 
of this before ? And the supper was delicious. 

In the edge of the evening, when Patrick came 
from the station with the Greene and White fathers, 
the two houses were in a state of commotion not to 
be described. 

Now the twins were as well known as the post- 
man. They had been lost and returned so many 
times that their anxious mothers had ceased to feel 




i ■ 



\ if 









HOW THE TWINS CAMPED OUT. 


anxious during an absence. But this time they had 
not come back, nor had they been returned, nor 
could they be found. 

It did not seem probable they would walk three 

miles to aunt Jennie’s, but, as Patrick said, ‘‘you 

* 

would be likely to find them where they were not 
likely to be.” 

He drove away in search of the two colors while 
the two families renewed their efforts in vain. The 
clocks were striking nine when Patrick returned 
alone. , 

Taking care of the tired horse, and lamenting over 
the poor little chaps, Patrick started so suddenly^ 
when a voice from the loft above called his name, 
that he dropped his measure of oats on the 
floor. 

“Patrick,” said the small voice again, “ we forgot 
the blankets.” 

“ What are you doing up there. Ally ? ” 

“ Otis and I are camping out, and we need blank- 
ets to-night,” Ally replied. 

Patrick left the barn in such haste that he forgot 
to close the door. The heads of the families held a 


HOW THE TWINS CAMPED OUT. 


consultation. At the close, Patrick returned with 
blankets, and made the pair comfortable. 

It was a disturbed night for all. Patrick on the 
hay below was sure their tongues never stopped at 
all. The long sleep in the afternoon and the unusual 
supper made them restless, and it was almost morn- 
ing when they fell into a sound slumber. 

All was still in the barn when they awoke. Even 
the horse was gone. 

Ally took up a pail of fresh milk which stood near 
them. 

They don’t expect us home, but I should think 
mamma would miss us,” he said. 

Sitting in their hay bed, they drank the milk and 
ate the remains of last night’s feast. It was quite 
unlike the cheeiy home breakfasts. They did not 
feel sure it was as pleasant. 

“Do you suppose. Ally, that your uncle Ned’s 
clothes made him tired nights ? ” asked Otis. “ Mine 
feel as though they belonged to some other boy. I 
am more tired than when I began to rest. My papa 
says that everybody needs occupation, and I think 
we had better find some.” 


HOW THE TWINS CAMPED OUT. 


Down in the barn the door of a closet stood open 
where Patrick kept his tools. There was a pail of 
paint on the shelf. “ It is to paint the doors, Ally,’’ 
said Otis. “ I asked Patrick yesterday when I was 
over here to let me paint Billy’s portrait on his stable 
door, and he said I must practice on a board first. 
But I think I shall do it on the closet door.” 

The artist had not commenced his work when 
Patrick came in. “ Good-morning,” said he, putting 
up the paint and locking the closet door. “ Have 
you any engagement this morning ? If not, Mrs. 
White sends her compliments, and she has heard 
some strange young gentlemen are camping out near 
her place, and would they be kind enough to call at 
her house ? ” 

“ Mrs. White ! ” exclaimed Otis. 

Yes, she is your mother, I believe.” 

No,” said Otis, thinking of Mrs. White, the inva- 
lid lady who kept a small store down the street ; but 
he added, after a moment’s thought, “ My mother is 
Mrs. White, I suppose.” 

‘^She says aunt Jennie and little Eddie are there, 
and would like to see you,” continued Patrick. 


ttow THE TWINS CAMTEt) OUT. 

Mrs. White received them very politely, offered 
seats, and inquired if the camp was comfortable. 
Did they expect friends to join them ? or would they 
remain there alone ? The strange young gentlemen 
were too much surprised to speak. 

They looked so funny, sitting up straight in chairs, 
with unwashed faces and hay sticking in their hair, 
that aunt Jennie had to look out of the window, and 
little Eddie was afraid. 

Nora came to the door with a message for Mrs. 
White ; and when that lady politely asked them to 
excuse her, the little campers could bear it no longer. 

Ally put on his hat. 

“ We will go,’* said he, “ and see if my mother knows 
us.” 

But Mrs. Greene had gone out for the day, and 
there was no dinner. 

The boys went back to camp. 

“Your father’s barn is a lonesome old place,” said 
Otis; “looks like an orphan asylum.” 

“ What is that ? ” inquired Ally. 

“ A place where they shut up children who have no 


mothers.” 


HOW THE TWINS CAMPED OUT. 


But, ascending to the “camp,’' they found that 
there was a dinner of fried fish and bread on aboard, 
which they relished. 

The afternoon was very long, for they had not the 
courage to call on Mrs. White again. 

It was almost night when Mrs. Greene came into 
the camping regions, smiling. 

Ally bounded down to her, exclaiming, “ Mamma 
can we go home ? I am tired of this old camp.” 

“ I hardly know how to answer you, my dear.*' 
replied Mrs. Greene. “ Y ou went away without asking- 
papa. He may expect you to ask him if you can 
return. But you can go with me now and see him if 
you like.” 

The little culprits were so unconscious of doing 
wrong at first, and so penitent when they knew what 
trouble they had caused, that Mr. Greene at once 
became willing that they should break camp and 
come home. Before Mrs. Greene had them washed 
and brushed, they had recovered their spirits, and 
were ready to forgive the White family and aunt 
Jennie. 

Nora received them with open arms. She made 


HOW THE TWINS CAMPED OUT. 


quite a little feast in honor of their return, and they 
both supped at the Whites’. She hugged them sep- 
arately and in a bunch. 

They are still trying to help, and tell the story of 
their one night in camp, as old soldiers tell the his- 
tory of battles from which they barely escaped with 
life. 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE 
WAS TWO. 


D ot was eight years old. She had very indul- 
gent parents and a beautiful home, but she was 
the only child in it, and it was the great grief of her 
little life that she had no sister. She had a play- 
room full of toys, and a book-case full of wonderful 
pictures and story-books. Her mamma often read 
and told stories to her, and often invited other chil- 
dren to play with her, but still Dot was lonely, and 
would have traded everything she had for the tiniest 
bit of a sister. 

“ Mamma, she said, one day, “ I wish you’d play 
I was two.” 

Play what, Dottie } ” 

Play I was two, mamma. You’ve only got one 
little girl, and we want another so dreadfully ! So 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


let’s play I was two little girls — one must be Dot, 
and the other Dottie, and when you call Dot, I’ll 
come, and if you call ‘ Dottie,’ I’ll come all the same, 
only then, you know. I’ll be the other one. Will you, 
mamma ? ” 

Yes,” said mamma, smiling. 

And you must ask me, ‘Where is your sister?’ 
and I’ll say, ‘Oh, she’s up-stairs, or she’s dressing 
her dolls,’ or something. Will you, mamma ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I shall have this doll for my sister, mamma,” 
and Dot held up her largest doll. “ She shall be my 
twin sister. Twins always look alike, you know — 
doesn’t she look like me ? See, her curls are yellow, 
and so are mine; and her eyes are blue and her 
cheeks are red, just like mine.” 

“But I don’t quite understand,” said mamma. 
“Am I to have three twins, then ? ” 

“ Why, no, ma’am: I’m to your two, but I’ve got 
to have someone to be the other one to me^ you know,” 
“It is rather a confusing arrangement, I think,” 
said mamma, laughing, “ but I’m sure it will be very 
nice indeed,” 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


‘‘ And oh ! mamma — twins always dress alike. 
Couldn’t you make her a little dress just like my new 
one ? Please now, you dear mamma ! ” 

Mamma patted the pretty face, and thought she 
might if there was enough blue bunting left, which 
was very likely. Cook then came for orders, and 
Dot, hearing the door-bell ring, settled waxen “ Dot- 
tie ” on a lounge and strayed into the parlor to see 
who had been shown in. 

A lady whom she had never seen before sat there. 
Dot spent so much time with her mother that she 
was accustomed to seeing visitors, so she was soon 
chatting sociably. 

have not seen your mother for a long time,” 
the lady said: “has she any little girls besides you, 
or any little boys ? ” 

“ Well, we haven’t any little boys, but I have a 
twin sister — that is, you know,” said Dot, confiden- 
tially, “ I play she’s my — ” but here her mother 
came in, and with the exclamations, “Why, Janet, 
you and “My dear Ruth!” the two ladies met 
eagerly. 

The visitor was an old schoolmate of Mrs, Prince, 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


Dot’s mother, who was very glad to learn that she, 
with her family, had moved into one of the suburbs of 
the city, and was now living but a few miles from 
them. The friends had not heard from each other 
for several years, and Dot sat quietly by for a short 
time, listening to their talk of old times. But Mrs. 
Bright made but a short call, and soon left, with 
promises of pleasant visits to come. 

Dot went for Dottie, and carried her up to the 
sewing-room to consult* with the seamstress as to 
whether there was enough stuff left, surely^ to make 
her a dress exactly like her own. 

The “ play I was two ” plan worked very well. To 
be sure, Dot’s mother sometimes forgot which of her 
was Dot and which Dottie ; but that really did not 
matter much. Dot found her twin sister a great com- 
fort, for, if she was not quite as lively as could have 
been wished, she fully made up for it in other ways. 
She was the most accommodating little thing in the 
world. If Dot did not feel like dressing her in the 
morning, she would lie in her little bed all day, con- 
tentedly staring at a chubby cherub on the ceiling 
paper. Or, if she were set to learn a lesson, she 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


would sit for hours with her eyes fixed on her book. 
She never wanted more than her share of nuts or 
candy. She never quarrelled with her sister, or med- 
dled with her toys, and always did exactly what she 
was told. All this, you know, is more than can be 
said of some twin sisters. 

Dot came one morning into the breakfast-room, 
got her kiss, and explained that Dottie had a slight 
attack of the nervous/’ and would take her break- 
fast in bed to-day. 

“ Dear me ! ” exclaimed mamma to papa, How 
strange it is that one or other of these children is so 
often sick ! We scarcely ever see both of them at 
the table at once. You must be sure and see that 
the poor little thing has a good breakfast. Dot.” 
Something of this kind was expected to be said every 
morning, and gave a delightful tinge of ^‘sure enough ” 
to the make-believe. 

Listen, dear,” went on mamma, as she opened a 
letter. ^‘This is from Mrs. Bright, the lady who 
came here last week.” She read : 

“ My children are to have a little lawn party on Friday after- 
noon, and I want you to come out and bring the little daughter 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


I saw at your house, and the twin sister she told me of, whom I 
did not see. Come by the early afternoon train. Mr. Bright will 
call for Mr. Prince to come by a late train to dinner. Don’t dis- 
appoint us. I will meet you at the station without faiL 

“Janet Bright.” 

Dot smiled. ‘‘I told her how I played I had a 
twin sister, mamma, and I think she’s very nice to 
invite her, too. I suppose all the little girls will have 
their dolls. Can we go, mamma ^ ” 

“ I think so, but stay — our Aid Society meets that 
afternoon, and I am one of the managers, and must 
be there. I’m sorry, little daughter, but I’m afraid 
you’ll have to go late, with papa and me.” 

Dot’s face fell. Then her papa spoke : 

“ It is only a few miles out there ; I can put her 
under the conductor’s care, and he’ll place her in 
Mrs. Bright’s hands.” 

Oh, she’s too little to go so,” said her mother, 
don’t think I could let her. Something might 
happen to her.” 

“ What could happen } ” It really was not easy to 
say what ; and Dot coaxed, and papa seconded her, 
till mamma gave an unwilling consent. So, in due 
time, with many cautions to herself and the conduc- 


HOW DOT PALYED SHE WAS TWO. 


tor, Dot was placed in a seat in the car, closely hug- 
ging the darling Dottie, in all the glory of her new 
dress — peacock blue with cardinal pipings, and a 
hat precisely like Dot’s own. 

She looks so becoming in it ! ” Dot assured her 
mother, with immense satisfaction. 

Many a smile awakened at sight of the dainty little 
lassie, carrying the small ditto of herself. But Dot did 
not find it as nice as she had expected. She had 
never before seen only strange faces around her, and 
she soon began to wonder how she ever could have 
left her mother. She sat Dottie in a corner of the 
seat, and waited anxiously, as several stations were 
passed in the closely-settled city suburbs, glad when 
the conductor took her hand and led her out upon 
the platform of a way-station. 

I was to leave this child with a Mrs. Bright,” he 
said, speaking in haste to a man who seemed to be 
in charge. I can’t wait a moment.” 

“ Mrs. Bright is not here, but I suppose she will be 
soon, if she was to meet some one,” was the answer. 

She lives very near, and if she doesn’t come I’ll send 
the little girl to her by safe hands, 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


The conductor knew the man was to be trusted, so 
he stepped on board his train, and it soon sped out of 
sight. And not till the last car disappeared around 
a curve did poor Dot remember, with grief and dis- 
may, that in her haste she had forgotten Dottie, her 
precious twin sister — blue dress, new hat and all. 

It would have been bad enough to be left alone 
this way, without having to bear such a misfortune, 
too. The man spoke pleasantly to her and gave her 
a chair, and she sat there with a big lump gathering 
in her throat, and tears clamoring to get out of her 
blue eyes. Five, ten, fifteen, yes, twenty minutes she 
waited, and then a horse was driven up fast, and Mrs. 
Bright in a great flutter, came half tumbling out of a 
pretty rockaway. 

“You poor little darling — no one to meet you, 
and you all alone ! To think of that wretched 
buckle breaking in the harness just as we were start- 
ing ! So sorry to get your mother’s note that she 
couldn’t come till late. But where’s your sis- 
ter ? ” 

As the tightly pressed lips opened to answer, the 
tears would not keep back any longer, 





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DOT PLAYS SHE IS TWO, 



HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


‘‘I — she's on the car," sobbed poor Dot. She's 
gone — " 

‘‘ What ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bright, raising her hands 
in horror ; “ do you mean that she's gone on in the 
train ? 

Dot's sobs redoubled at sight of her agitation, and 
Mrs. Bright saw that it would not do to excite the 
child further. She led her out and put her in the 
carriage, where she was much comforted at sight of a 
little girl rather older than herself. The lady then 
returned to the station-master. 

“ Mr. Barton, what shall I do ? what shall I do ? 
That child's sister has gone on in the train. Do tel- 
egraph somewhere — quick ! " 

‘‘Very strange! The conductor put her off here. 
That train," he looked up a time-table, “ is beyond 
Glendale by this time. Hamilton will be the best 
place for her to get off and take a down train. What 
shall I say? " 

“ Oh dear, let me see — a little girl, about eight, I 
believe — how was your sister dressed, Dottie ? " she 
cried, running out to the carriage. 

“Just like me, ma'am." 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


“ Of course. Well, don’t cry any more, pet, we’ll 
have her back here soon. John, drive the children 
home, and come back for me.” 

“ — Dressed in blue — they’re twins. Oh dear, 
such a mite of a thing to be off by herself ! When is 
the next train up? — I believe I’ll go after her 
myself.” 

“Don’t you fret now, ma’am. That wouldn’t do 
any good, for like as not you’d miss her coming back. 
They’ll take good care of her, and return her all right, 
you’ll see.” 

Mrs. Bright walked up and down the platform, 
thinking the answer never would come. At last : 

“ Here ’tis ! ” But as Mr. Barton pencilled it off 
his face grew blank. It ran : 

“ No such child on train. She got off at Grov elands 

Mrs. Bright looked at him in terror. 

“ What does it mean ? ” she gasped. “There were 
two.” 

“ I’m blamed if I know, ma’am,” he said ; “I never 
knew such a thing to happen before.” 

“What can we do next?” she said, a tremble in 
her voice. 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


She might have got off at one of the stations 
above here. ' I might telegraph and inquire.’’ 

“Yes, yes — telegraph anywhere.” 

Some train despatches were passing, and the an- 
swers were some time delayed. But at last it was ascer- 
tained that nothing had been seen of any such child. 

“ She might have fallen off,” exclaimed Mrs. Bright, 
now nearly beside herself. “ Send men on foot all 
along the road. I must go into the city at once and 
see Mr. Bright and the child’s parents — they were 
to come out at half past five — but we must advertise 
in all the papers, and get out the police.” 

“ See here, ma’am,” said Mr. Barton, in real pity 
for her distress, “ I’d advise you to stay out here 
and let them come. We may hear something before 
that time, and then they needn’t be alarmed. I’ll 
send out good men, and they’ll telegraph the moment 
they find her. You’d better go home, ma’am, and I’ll 
let you know the first word I hear.” 

Mrs. Bright knew this would be best. With a cold 
chill at her heart at thought of what might be, she 
rode home, finding a group of happy children at play 
on the lawn. 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


Dot had soon made friends with the little Brights 
and others, and had almost forgotten her troubles. 
She looked at Mrs. Bright as she drew near, but did 
not leave her place in the merry circle which sang : 

“ Here we go round the mulberry bush.” 

“ I haven’t brought her yet, Dottie,” she said, ‘‘ but" 
she’ll come soon,” and as Dot laughed and moved 
on, the lady could not help thinking, “ I wonder how 
she can take it so coolly ! Childlike, I suppose, but 
I do think our children would have felt it more if 
one of their number had been lost.” 

I should not have cried a bit about it,” said Dot 
to Alice Bright, a little later, as they walked arm-in- 
arm through the shrubbery, “if she hadn’t had on 
her nice new dress, and such a beautiful hat. It was 
the first time she ever wore them, and — ” Dot sighed 
mournfully — “ /don’t believe she’ll ever come back.” 

Alice looked at her in surprise, thinking this a 
very queer thing for her to say. She privately told 
it to the nurse-maid, who told the cook and house- 
maid, and they came out to look at Dot, and all 
thought she must be a very queer child indeed, but 
certainly was a very nice-looking one. 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO, 


The carriage was sent for the expected guests, and 
nothing had been heaid of the lost child. Mrs. 
Prince came in it, the gentlen^n preferring to walk. 
Mrs. Bright met her at the door with a brave attempt 
to look as if nothing was the matter; she must not 
know till all hope of soon finding the little one was 
gone. The children had been sent to play in another 
part of the grounds, and she was hurried up-stairs. 
Before long Mr. Prince and Mr. Bright were heard 
chatting in the parlor below, and Mrs. Bright's kindly 
heart grew heavier with every step she took, as she 
went down to put such a dreadful end to their friendly 
talk. She came before them with such a quivering 
face that her husband seized her hands in alarm. 

‘‘ O Mr. Prince," she said, “ your little girl is 
lost — but — she will be found soon, I know — Pm 
sure of it, sir. She got left on the train — and we have 
telegraphed and telegraphed, but she isn't found yet." 

He started to his feet and listened with a white 
face, his mind going back to the moment when he 
had led his little daughter into the car that afternoon, 
rather against her mother's wish. 

“ Stay, sir," went on Mrs. Bright ; and Mr. Bright 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


laid his hand on his shoulder as he stepped towards 
the door. ‘‘There are men out searching — Mrs. 
Prince don’t know.” 

There was a cheery sound of children’s voices and 
steps in the hall. The^ door opened suddenly, and 
with a “ Papa dear, have you come } ” Dot sprang 
into her father’s arms. “ O, papa, don’t squeeze me 
so hard, you hurt me,” she cried as he turned with 
what she thought a very strange look to Mrs. Bright. 

“ Madam, I must have misunderstood you,” he 
said ; and his voice was strange, too. But at this 
moment Dot heard her mother calling her, and she 
slipped from his arms and ran up-stairs. 

“ She must be told tenderly, or it will kill her,” 
said Mrs. Bright. She did not wait to hear anything 
more from Mr. Prince, but flew after Dot. But the 
bonny thing was already perched in her mother’s lap. 

“ And mamma, poor Dottie’s lost. I left her on 
the car, and she’s gone travelling away off, and I 
don’t believe she’ll ever come back ! ” 

Poor Mrs. Bright dropped into a chair, waiting 
helplessly for her friend to scream, faint, or go into 
hysterics. Mrs. Prince went on stroking the light curls. 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


‘‘ Oh, well, never mind her, dear. I Ve got you two 
yet, you know, and I’ll get you another twin sister.” 

Had she gone insane in one moment ? Mrs. 
Bright ran and threw her arms around her. 

‘‘ O Emeline, do you hear ? Don’t you under- 
stand what the child is telling you ? ” 

“ Why, yes, Janet : she has lost the doll she called 
her twin sister, but it’s no matter, of course.” 

A doll! All this about a doll ! ” 

Mrs. Bright went to her room and laughed and 
cried, and had camphor and aromatic vinegar for 
half an hour. Then Dot crept up to her and said : 

“Oh dear, Mrs. Bright, I’m so sorry. I’ll never 
play there was two of us any more, never I Mrs. 
Bright shook her and hugged her, and said, as she 
got up and brushed her hair for dinner : 

“ You dear little, funny little nuisance ! Why didn’t 
you tell me the other one of you was made of wax } ” 

What became of her? 

She sat in the corner of the seat, not seeming to 
mind being left there at all. Pretty soon a mother 
with two or three little children took the seat, and 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


what a marvel she was to them ! They hugged her 
and kissed her and quarrelled over her while they ate 
sticky gingerbread, till at last, when they left, she did 
not look quite as fresh as before. The mother had 
a very hard time coaxing them to leave her when 
they got off. Then a gentleman came, who put her 
into the rack overhead, and she rode there all the 
afternoon, with one arm dangling down, and her 
pretty French boots sticking out. All the little ones 
looked up at her and laughed, and wondered if the 
gentleman was taking her home to his little girl. 

When night came, and the train reached the end 
of the route, she was left alone in the car, and the 
conductor took her to a place where they keep things 
lost or forgotten, to wait for some one to claim them. 
No one came for Dottie, and after a few days he took 
her to his lodging-house. He had no little ones of 
his own, but in a gloomy room there lived a crippled 
child, who never took a step out of it. She smiled 
and laughed and cooed and ^ng over this most beau- 
tiful thing which had ever come to her all through 
the years of her monotonous child-life. 


HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO. 


If loving little Dot could have known of the bright- 
ness her twin sister carried into the shadowed home, 
she surely would have wanted to send every doll she 
owned travelling away on the cars all alone. 


HOW CHRISTMAS CARDS 
ARE MADE. 


W HAT should we older folks have said if we 
could have had, when we were children, a 
Christmas card sent to us even like the least beauti- 
ful of those in the shop windows during the Christmas 
season. 

In our time they probably had not so much as been 
thought of in this country. And it was not so ve7'y\ 
very long ago either ! Then a stocking-full of candy 
a doll, a picture-book, a little wooden, or earthen, or 
sugar animal, a top, or any common toys — the list 
to select from was not long. 

Now — everything ! And, besides all the rest, these 
lovely Christmas cards — works from artist hands. 
Of course Christmas cards are for all ages and every- 
body. But the young people and the very little folks 
have certainly been most lavishly remembered. There 
are even whole series of baby cards, where babies are 







ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


seen doing all those pretty things which are thought 
so cunning ! ’’ And for the five or six year-old lads 
and lassies there are the sweetest pictures ever made ; 
and so on, all the way from the time of dolls, up. 

Cards, cards : sent from house to house, loading 
down the mail-bags, distributed in hospitals, going 
over the seas, down into mines, and off to lonely cat- 
tle ranches and log-cabin homes ; away back to the 
farthest western town, which in that period I spoke 
of had not even begun to be ; and to distant colonies 
where then only savages were — wherever the mail- 
bag goes, there go they. And that is one of the 
pleasant things about them, next to their prettiness 
and cheapness. They can be so conveniently sent, 
and with no cost but a postage-stamp. No breakages 
either, as there might be to a porcelain vase, a carved 
bracket, a wax doll, or an elaborate toy. The cards 
are really the most available of all the tokens of good- 
will, at a time when everybody wants to send some- 
thing to everybody else. And this is one of several 
reasons why they are so popular. 

To know just how popular they are with all classes, 
you ought to wait at the counter or near the windows 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


of some store in one of the large cities just before 
Christmas. As that day approaches, these places 
fairly bloom out with cards. You would know the 
tempting show was spread, by the crowd hanging 
about from morning till night. Every one is a tip-toe 
to peep over his neighbors’ shoulders, until you would 
think that the seeing and buying of Christmas cards 
were the great events of the season. And to some 
people they are. Now and then some forlorn-looking 
old woman or child-beggar comes with a few pennies 
to pay for one ; and the transaction has all the im- 
portance to the purchaser that a transfer of railroad 
or bank stock has to some millionaire broker. 

It was as good as reading a dozen story-books to 
stand one evening near the counter of a store where 
a brisk business in this line was going on, and watch 
those who were buying cards ; to see their faces and 
hear what they said. 

How those school-girls did “ gush ” ! It was just 

gush ” — no other word expresses all that delicious 
babble and chatter, those extravagant expressions, 
those little ripples of talk. Everything was ‘‘ too 
sweet,” or ‘‘ too lovely,” or “ too cunning for any- 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


thing.’’ It was a “darling,” or a “dear.” And they 
were so long in deciding, and they were so good- 
natured ! 

“ Oh, isn’t this just the most charming thing ? oh, 
isn’t this splendid oh, it is too perfect! It is — it 
is exquisite I ” “Alike this best 1 ” “ This is my choice ! 
No. I can’t tell ! Oh, if they weren’t all so pretty! 
How am I going to choose ” “ Which do you like 

best } Oh, say, which do you ? ” . 

They were grammar-school girls who rattled away 
so — bright young girls with the rosy faces and spark- 
ling eyes that we older people like to look at ; and 
they had lovely Russia-leather porte-monnaies and glit- 
tering purses, and “ lots of money to spend on Christ- 
mas cards.” 

As they lingered, and chattered, and admired, 
and selected, away up even to the dollar cards, they 
were jostled by an old rag-picker, wrinkled, skinny, 
brown as a gypsy, careworn and poverty-stricken ; and 
then by a ragged bootblack and his comrade. 

She held a dingy piece of scrip on which a faded 
figure five was barely visible ; and she caught eagerly 
at a card adorned with a guady cherub, with wide- 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


open mouth, as if it was the only one worth looking 
at. Exchanging the crumpled rag of money for it, she 
hurried off, her treasure extended at arms’ length 
before her, as one would hold out a contribution- 
box. 

The boy clutched a silver dime, while he stood in 
what must have been an agony of indecision before 
two cards ; and his companion sympathized with him. 
Our small polisher of boots was without a jacket; his 
trousers were patched, and so was his shirt ; his 
auburn hair showed through a hole in his hat, and 
his bare toes could be seen in the yawning gaps in his 
boots. But he had a taste for the beautiful, and the 
two cards represented everything to be desired. He 
wanted both, but could have only one. 

It was to be for Jessie ; but whether Jessie was his 
small sweetheart, or sister, or neighbor, he did not 
tell. She was sick ; and she was English, and her 
father had been a gardener, and he was dead ; and he 
had been fond of violets, and she had always loved 
English violets best of all flowers. And this was a 
card of English violets, so freshly gathered, it would 
seem that you could almost smell their delectable 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


perfume. But the other card was a Kate Greenaway 
— a little damsel in a cap and flowered gown, with a 
green umbrella over her head. She had on red-heeled 
shoes, and she was walking in a garden ; and she 
looked like Jessie’s sister that died that Jessie had 
not any photograph of.” So, though the violets 
touched him nearly — poor, unkempt, rough-looking 
boy with the freckled face and red, chapped hands — 
his soul went forth to the little maid in the garden ; 
and he turned his eager gaze first to one and then the 
other, till at last destiny interposed in the form of a 
friendly hand which slipped a dime into his other palm, 
while a voice whispered in his ear, ‘‘ Buy them both.” 

Then came a child who wanted one “ cheap but 
lovely,” for her father who was in the mines in Colo- 
rado ; she had sent him one last year, and he had 
kept it stuck up over his bed ever since, and had 
looked at it every day and thought of her. 

A sailor’s wife bought a cradle scene for her hus- 
band off at sea ; and a negro lad picked out a frog 
fiddling under a cat-tail, for his ‘‘ old mammy at the 
Souf.” A woman with one of those faces radiating 
benevolence, which the habitual doer of kind deeds 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 



may almost be known by, 
supplied herself with 
enough for each convict 
in one of the State pris- 
ons; and she said she 
never spent the same 
amount of money more 
to her satisfaction than 
in the same way last 
year. She had picked out home pictures : chil- 
dren playing, a fireside group, a mother with her 






ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


babe, and such things. And not a man but had done 
just what the miner did — put the card on the wall 
where he could see it the first thing in the morning. 

It was cheering to 


observe how every- 
body, old or young, 
seemed under the pow- 
er of that loving re- 
membrance of some- 
body ; and the very in- 
fluence of such a spirit 
made the homeliest face 
beautiful. It is wonderful 
what a beautifier is that feeling 
of ‘‘ peace on earth, good-will 
to men,’’ which takes such 
possession of people at Christ- 
mas time. If it would only 
stay by ! 

Yet there were exceptions. Two stylish girls ap- 
peared, holding back their skirts, looking supercil- 
ious, disdainful, turning up their noses at those 

around them; and they inquired for ‘‘the latest 



about CURISTkAS CARDS. 


thing ; something toney, you know.” They did not 
want any of “ those things, they are too common.” 
‘‘ And why,” asked 
one, “ do you let such 
pretty things go so 
cheap that everybody 
can have them.^ It 
just spoils them.” 

Whereupon the 
salesman quietly re- 
marked that it was one of 
the leading ideas of the card- 
publishers to make them com- 
mon, so that a taste for art 
should be educated. “ Some 
of the best artists,” he said 
“ design and work on just such 
cards as these that hit the 
popular fancy and he shuffled 
over cherub faces, English 
landscapes framed in shining 
green holly, children singing 
Christmas carols, baskets of fruit and flowers. 



TWO STYLISH GIRLS. 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


birds, butterflies — everything that was attractive. 

Every year,’’ he added, people expect some- 
thing prettier. Last year went beyond any other, and 
this year they are prettier than ever. By and by I am 
afraid the artists will exhaust their resources, but I 
hope not.” 

If you should ask a German -where the cus- 
tom of sending Christmas cards originated, he would 
tell you in Germany.” And he would point you to 
those, good, bad and indifferent, which are imported 
from his country, and would speak especially of the 
Hildersheimer cards, which are so well known among 
dealers. Hamburg is a famous place to order from; 
and everybody who is familiar with the display at the 
holiday season, knows whence come those mice and 
storks and frogs, and ridiculous blue-bottle flies, 
doing such funny things ; those imps performing 
tricks ; and the many with quaint interiors, and peas- 
ants in gay dresses. Some of these are appropriate 
to Christmas, but the most are only irresistibly comic 
and queer. 

It was indeed an old German custom to remember 
friends with cards. But in other countries they have 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


long done the same. Not necessarily at Christmas, 
however. The Chinese, who know nothing of the 
meaning of 
such a day, 
have a fashion 
probably a s 
old as their 
empire itself. 

In all the Chi- 
nese laundries 
among us are 
to be seen on 
the walls flam- 
ing red papers 
marked with 
black charac- 
ters. These 
are the cards 
received on 
New Year, 
which remain 
there until 

the next anniversary comes round. Mr. Ko- 



ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


Kun-Hua, the mandarin at Harvard University, 
keeps up the national custom, and on our New 
Year’s day (which is not the same as in China, 
sends his servant to the houses of his American 
friends, with handsome flowered cards inscribed in 
Chinese and English, with his good wishes, on the 
prescribed red paper, and carried in a red cloth. 

The Japanese have caught the Christmas idea; 
and within the last year or two there have appeared 
many Japanese cards, rich in such designs as we see 
on vases, fans and cabinets. But most of those for 
sale are made where the beautiful Pekin China ” 
ware is made — in England. There are, however, 
places where the genuine things are to be had ; Bos- 
ton has one store which imports them directly from 
Tokio. 

It is not difficult to distinguish the real article ; 
for though the imitation may be cleverly done, no 
imitators can manufacture the peculiar paper of 
which the Japanese cards are made. The cards are 
of the ordinary oblong shape, or in scallops, or leaf 
forms, and each one shows that it was cut separately 
by hand. No two are just alike, and no two fit to* 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


■ gather. The designs are ingenious, as might be 
expected, and the colors have a peculiar richness 
such as our artists cannot give. In every one of the 
pictures there are some little bits which do not at 
first catch the eye. For instance, on one of the su- 
perbly painted branches of flowers may be discovered 
a frog, holding fast by one arm while with the other he 
reaches a fish-line as far out as he can, to catch a crab 
in the water below. In another a spider is offering a 
fan to a bird ; a fly up in a tree has a lantern, which 
he is letting down to a young bird on the back of an 
old one ; and a grasshopper is trying to overtake 
one of his comrades to hold an umbrella over his 
head. In every one there is some little by-play of 
this kind. 

If you were to ask an Englishman where this great 
card movement started, he would probably tell you 
in his country, from the fact that cards have for sev- 
eral years been in use there as Christmas tokens. 
But there was nothing of any special account, or of 
any artistic value, either there or anywhere on the 
other side of the water, until Mr. Louis Prang put 
his energies into th^ work, 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


It will have to be claimed, then, in some sense, as 
among “ Boston notions ; ’’ and he must have the 
credit of its development. 

He started in a very modest way, about seven 
years ago, with floral cards on a black ground — a 
great many of you have some of the identical cards 
stored away among your souvenirs. And very hand- 
some they are too : such natural scarlet geraniums, 
such perfect daisies, and sprays of apple-blossoms 
on the solid background of black ! They are by no 
means to be disparaged, though the business has 
made such astonishing progress since. The work 
had the same qualities of thoroughness and fidelity 
then as now. 

Such was the small beginning. But they “ took ” 
at once. He introduced them into England (the 
first of the kind ever seen there), without any name, 
and they were known in the market simply as 
‘‘American cards.’’ They immediately became pop- 
ular; perhaps more so there and elsewhere in 
Europe than here. And for the same reason they 
have kept their hold. In Europe all classes love 
flowers. In Germany every villager has his bit of 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


flower garden — if he has the means, a small conser- 
vatory ; at any rate, his window plants. In England 
it is the same. The London dressmakers who have 
only an humble dark room, invariably have a few 
pots of flowers in their window. To such people 
these cards appealed. 

And Mr. Prang’s flower cards are called the finest 
in the world. He now has persons employed on 
them who are not only artists, but botanists ; and 
the pictures they produce are as beautiful and faith' 
ful as skill and study can make them. These re 
productions are only chromos, it is true, but are the 
most careful copies of excellent work. Nothing but 
the original hand-painted piece can surpass them. 

Cards painted by hand must always command a 
price too high for the purses of the many, and any 
considerable demand for them could not be met. As 
it is, several of our publishing houses employ their 
own artists on the preparation of these choice things, 
which are often done on ivory, or mounted on the fin- 
est board or on a lustrous back of satin. Among the 
artists whose names do not appear, are women who 
do this for their daily bread, drawing and coloring 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS, 


from life our field and garden flowers. There 
are touching histories of some whose patient 
hands are busy over this dainty employment. 



Up in 
close at- 
tics, and 
even in 
sick- 
rooms, 
they are 
p u tti ng 
the lovers 


WHO RECEIVE CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


of beautiful forms under obligation to them for those 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 



flowers and gold- 
en-rod ; the very 
sight of which in 
the shop windows |/ , 

brings up memo- 
ries of rambles 
in the country, \*yV\A0" 
and the glory of 
summer days. who receive Christmas cards. 

Specialties in Christmas cards each year make 
their appearance, beginning in price at two cents 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


and ranging up to a dollar or more. But those from 
ten or fifteen to twenty-five cents have the widest 
sale. One house brings out an imitation birch-bark 
card with rustic design ; another in screen form, with 
Japanese scenes; leaflets, panels, heavy cards with 
India-ink borders, or a gilt or silver back-ground ; a 
novelty if possible. 

About two years ago the Boston firm of S. W. Tilton 
& Co. issued a series of ‘‘ Outline Design Cards for 
studies and decorative purposes, which have met 
with a good deal of favor. The work was by Miss 
Burlingame. They are graded and are furnished in 
packages of six, together with a set of colors, and 
directions for using, so that any ingenious girl, 
even a child, can paint her own cards. The first is 
very simple, but an extremely pretty thing. A little 
girl in a sort of Mother Hubbard cap, a trig coat 
with big pocket and buttons, a kerchief pinned 
round her shoulders, huge muff in one hand and 
stick in the other, is starting off on a journey, 
reminding one of Jeanie Deans trudging on foot 
up to London. In the order of progression, the 
designs become more difficult ; and such animated 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS 


and absurd scenes appear as a snow landscape with 
a polar bear bowing like a dancing-master, while he 
pays the compliments of the season to three penguins. 

Of the imported cards, those most familiar are the 
De La Rue, the Kate Greenaway, and the Marcus 
Ward. The De La Rues are delicate and mellow, 
rather than original or vigorous. They are apt to 
represent figures of tall, slender-limbed young women 
in soft drapery, and the colors have a kind of Pom- 
peiian richness. They are dreamy-looking and 
aesthetic ; and there is a satiny softness about the 
finish which gives to all of them the same general 
characteristics. 

The Kate Greenaway cards belong with the age 
where nursery rhymes are a delight. Everybody 
knows now her old-fashioned little folks, with their 
distractingly pretty, quaint clothes. She, too, usually 
has human figures, but hers are children. Those 
small boys and girls, working in the garden, going to 
market, off on a holiday, walking in the fields, tend- 
ing dolls, out under umbrellas, playing at house- 
keeping, doing everything that their elders do, in 
such a wise, odd way, in such sober mimicry, such 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


make-believe — who does not know and admire 
them ? 

The Marcus Ward cards are spoken of as English, 
but they are really produced in Ireland. The paper- 
mills and lithographic establishment of the firm are 
in Belfast, though scarcely an Irishman is to be 
found on their staff of artists and designers, but 
mostly English and Germans. Their cards come 
both in the single form and in the folded, where you 
have a whole series opening in panels. Some of the 
heads and landscapes are exquisite, appearing to 
have been copied from distinguished artists ; and the 
card itself is often of finish so choice that no other 
surpasses it. 

The three kinds, with the Hildersheimers from 
Germany, make the leading lines from Europe. 

But we must come back to the greatest card enter- 
prise in the world — that of Mr. Prang, which has 
grown like the famous bean-stalk of the story-book. 
His heart was in it from the first, and he had ideas 
of his own : the main thing was to get artists who 
would work them out. A better class of these began 
to come into the service, and within the last two or 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


three years some of the best have tried their hand. 
More still have become practically interested during 
this last year, for he has doubled his previous amount 
for prizes, offering $4000. 

The competition for prizes gave a great start to 
the business everywhere. It had long been in his 
mind, and he only waited until he felt sure that there 
would be artists enough to compete to make it 
worth while. The offer made in the spring of 1880 
was the first of the kind ever made by anybody. 
Since then, Raphael Tuck in England has followed 
his example. 

For the prizes of $ 1000 , $500, $300 and $ 200 , 
nearly seven hundred designs were sent in, of 
which, besides those of the successful competitors, 
he bought about twenty-five, which will be brought 
out at some future time. 

These prize cards have been so many times de- 
scribed that it need only be said that the first, by 
Miss Rosina Emmett, was a group of choir boys sing- 
ing a Christmas anthem, and the accessories of an 
angel announcing the glad news to a shepherd. The 
stars and passion-flowers were introduced with admi- 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


rable taste. The next, by Alexander Sandier, had no 
religious idea, but represented a little girl in much 
scarlet and white fur, kissing her finger-tips to you, 
while she gives good wishes ; and it is very sweet 
and winning. 

These two may be taken as types of the two dis- 
tinct classes of cards which began to divide public 
favor, crowding a little upon the floral cards which 
had hitherto. held the. market. 

In the second competition, Mr. Prang paid the 
same sum in prizes again, and a new feature was 
developed ; namely, a Christmas card of a character 
so distinctively artistic that it would answer just 
as well for a panel, or a wall picture, as for the 
holiday occasion. The design which won the first, 
has been much criticised, as wanting both in the 
religious element and in any fitness to Christmas. 
But as indicating another phase in the card enter- 
prise, it is artistic in every respect. 

About twenty-five hundred designs were offered in 
the second competition, though not by that number 
of individuals, some artists sending more than one. 
Of this list, fifteen hundred, more or less, were re- 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


jected by the judges, and the others were placed on 
exhibition. Mr. Prang bought only fifteen or 
twenty. 

It was one of the noticeable things, that nearly 
all had human figures ; and as it takes an artist to 
draw a figure, there were lamentable failures. In 
many, otherwise commendable, the design was so 
complicated that the eye did not catch the meaning 
— one had to ask what it was. Others would have 
been well enough in their place, but were out of 
place there. 

It was pitiable to see how many people without 
talent or taste, dared to compete for a thousand- 
dollar prize. One old lady of seventy was sure she 
should get it; but after experimenting with a picture, 
her aspirations came down to the second, and then 
she applied to a professional artist to touch it up for 
her. 

There were the most crude and also the most 
absurd things offered. Angels with wings heavy 
enough to drag them to the earth ; strange mixtures 
of things ancient and modern ; a bust of Caesar 
Augustus; a Holy Family with the Star-spangled- 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


banner in the background, and General 
Garfield on his way to the White House. 



In the third competition a 
double set of prizes will be 
awarded ; the first will be 
decided by a vote of artists 
and critics, the second by 
the direct vote of the peo- 
ple. At this date — the date 
WHO APPRECIATE CHRIST- when this article goes into type 
MAS CARDS. — drawings of this third 

competition are on exhibition in New Y ork city. About 
fifty of the seven hundred designs which were sent in, 
have been selected for the display. Each design is num- 
bered before it is hung in the gallery, and every visitor is 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


invited to write the number of the drawing which 



has pleased him most, on a slip of paper, and de- 
posit it in a box before he leaves. In this way Mr. 
Prang, always painstaking and conscientious, hopes 
fully to gauge the popular tastes, and to give the 
people the cards that they best like.* 

.However, in these few 
years Mr. Prang has been 
able to judge pretty well 
about the success of 
certain styles of cards 
and the places where a 
special line would be a 
favorite. At first it was 
only in the larger cities 


*The Prizes have been awarded; and it will interest our readers to know 
tnat the Second and Third Artists’ Prizes went to the lady who illustrated 
this article, Miss L. B. Humphrey. 



ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


that there was much demand for them. Now the 
orders come from every direction ; and last year the 
sales of this house alone were over five millions. 

A visit to his establishment in Roxbury, as the 
holiday time draws near, will give one an idea of 
the magnitude to which the Christmas-card business 
has grown. 

It takes three months to get one of those pictures 
through all the processes. In one long room a row 
of artists, each in his own little nook, at his own win- 
dow, is busy over something beautiful, tracing it by 
means of the sheet of gelatine, perhaps. Designs are 
constantly coming in. Mr. Prang is prepared to take 
the best from any part of the world. They arrive 
from London, Berlin, Munich, Dresden ; and one 
lady has sent good work from county Galway, lately 
associated with land-leaguers and “Boycotting.’’ 

In different departments the presses are going, 
and sheets of cards are being taken off and passed 
on for some further development. They go through 
processes enough fully to bewilder the looker-on 
before they come out in their finished state. 

Fifty or sixty girls occupy the packing-rooms, 


ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


putting the cards in boxes, or otherwise prepar- 
ing for sending them off on their short or long 
journeys — perhaps to the nearest city, perhaps to 
an agent in Australia. And it is difficult to make 
one’s way through and out of the bustling place. 

Then, when you have been to the machine shop, 
and have seen in rough a huge sample of the stone 
— a kind of limestone with some clay in it, which 
comes from a deep quarry in Germany — which is 
so important in this great business, you are invited 
by Mr. Prang to the Library.” 

You are conducted by him down to the base- 
ment to a cellar-like quarter, wholly foreign to 
any purpose or likeness of a library. In the dim- 
ness you can discern nothing that looks like a book. 
You are pt the entrance of a half-subterranean pas- 
sage, scarcely wide enough for you to walk in, and 
stretching off in gloomy, chill perspective. But 
when he lights the gas, you see that it is lined 
with tablets of gray stone, each on its own individual 
shelf, laid up with the order of masonry. Like 
petrified volumes in solid folio, weighty, austere, 
left over from some age when there were giants 



ABOUT CHRISTMAS CARDS. 


on the earth ! An ante- 
enduring 
‘‘ Each 
says, 


diluvian literature in 
rock ! 

of these stones,^’ he 
“has an origi- 





nal drawing on it, so that 
if everything else were de- 
j stroyed, the picture could 
still be reproduced from 
it.’’ 

Then, as he turns on a full blaze 
from all the burners down the gray 
vista, he puts the question, with a twinkle of 
merriment in his eye, — “And what do you think 
of the Library ? ” 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


B essie was hot; Bessie was tired; and — yes, I 
am sorry to say it, but it is true that Bessie 
was cross ! 

It was no wonder, either, poor little dear ! for she 
had been in the cars for three whole days, all the way 
from Chicago ; and this last day, from New York to 
Boston, was the most trying of all. 

The wind was the wrong way ; for instead of fan- 
ning Bessie^s hot cheeks, it blew great clouds of 
black smoke into the car, and then went flying off 
over the hills, laughing at the mischief it had done. 
Bessie^s face was as sooty as a chimney-sweep’s, her 
little blue bonnet was covered with black specks, 
and as for her frock, you would hardly have known 
that it had ever been white. 

Bessie had looked through her picture-books three 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


times, and had become so tired of her beloved doll 
Rosabell, that she threw her under the seat, break- 
ing off the point of her beautiful aquiline nose. 
Papa picked up Doll Rosabel and put her in 
mamma’s satchel ; then he picked up Bessie, and 
put her in his own lap. Bessie laid her little sooty 
face against papa’s white shirt-front, and was just 
beginning to dream that she was in her own little 
crib in Boston, and at the same time sitting at aunt 
May’s tea-table in Chicago eating strawberries and 
cream, when suddenly the crib and tea-table both 
toppled over, and Bess found herself sitting on papa’s 
shoulder, while papa himself was shaking hands 
with all his might, with a tall gentleman, who had 
just entered the car, leading a little boy. 

Before Bess fairly knew what had happened, she 
and the little boy were sitting together on the seat 
opposite, with a bag of pea-nuts, a paper of candy, 
and a fresh picture-book between them, while the 
gentleman was telling her papa and mamma all about 
the little boy. 

‘‘I think you must remember our fellow-clerk, 
Henry Bryant,” the gentleman was saying ; ‘‘he and 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


his wife both died in Chicago a few weeks since, 
leaving little Bennie, their only, child, absolutely 
alone in the great city. His nearest relative is an 
aunt living in Maine, and to her the father directed 
that the boy should be sent. He planned the jour- 
ney with the greatest precision ; telegrams are sent in 
advance all along the route, so that wherever he 
stops, friends meet him and forward him to the 
next junction. He carries letters commending him 
to the care of railway officials, and of strangers — 
though so far, it has not been necessary to use them 
— and wears a badge, engraved with his name and 
destination. He fully understands the use of all 
these precautions, and could, I believe, take care of 
himself in an emergency. Bryant wrote me an af- 
fecting letter, referring to our old friendship, and 
commending the child to my especial care. 

‘‘ How I wish we had known about him ! said 
Bessie^s mamma ; we could have brought him all 
the way from Chicago with us.’’ 

‘‘Well,” said the gentleman, “I am going to Prov- 
idence ; and if you will take him in charge as far as 
Boston, I shall be greatly obliged. I have really no 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


fears for his safety ; but it will please him to have 
a little companion. His baggage is checked to 
Boston ; and he will remain there a few days, that 
the journey may not be so fatiguing, and then go to 
Hallowell by express. My brother James will meet 
him at the depot, so he need be no trouble to you 
whatever.” 

Of course Bessie’s papa and mamma said that they 
would be very happy to take care of Bennie, and as 
for Bessie they thought she would be very glad of a 
little companion. 

Miss Bess eyed her new acquaintance somewhat 
critically. He had freckles, and Bess did not like 
freckles ; but then he had a bright smile, and she 
did like bright smiles very much. Besides she had 
listened attentively to the gentleman’s long story, 
and though she did not know^ the meaning of half 
the big words he used, she understood that Bennie 
was travelling alone, and that greatly increased her 
respect for him. She knew that she could never 
have found her way to Chicago, alone — it was noth- 
ing much to go to Boston — Bessie had lived in 
Boston all her life ; but Bennie was going to Maine ! 


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TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


Bess did not know where Maine was, exactly — it 
might be a part of Boston ; but yet for all she knew, 
k might be in Europe, and she knew that Europe 
was a great way off, for mamma and papa had been 
there. 

But Bessie wanted to talk, so she began the con- 
versation. 

Is that your papa ? ” she asked, pointing to the 
tall gentleman. 

“ No,'' said Bennie, “ I haven't any papa, nor any 
mamma." 

“ I have — that's them ; they're the only papa and 
mamma I've got ; " and Bess looked quite pensive, 
as she thought how near she was to being an 
orphan. 

“ I b'lieve," was the next remark, your papa 
says you're going somewheres by 'spress — " 

“ I told you I hadn't any papa," interrupted Ben- 
nie, indignantly — 

“You'll have to be nailed up in a box," continued 
Bess, sublimely indifferent to the interruption, “ and 
they'll have to hammer and hammer, and hammer to 
get you out again. They'll leave some holes though 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


for you to breath through. I had some rabbits come 
that way.’’ 

Bessie had supposed that Bennie would be very 
much impressed by her superior knowledge ; but he 
did not seem to be impressed in the least. He just 
laid back his head and laughed as hard as he could. 

‘‘ O, you little goosey ! ” he said. 

That was not a polite thing to say, certainly. Bess 
was dreadfully mortified, indeed, she mentally re- 
solved that she would never speak to Bennie again, 
as long as she lived ; and she didn’t for two whole 
minutes. 

What would she say to this little boy, who had 
travelled so far, and who knew so much ? 

I’ve got a little trunk of my own,” she remarked, 
after a pause; ^‘it’s black; it’s got ‘ B. B.’ on it, for 
my name — Bessie Blake.” 

‘‘ My trunk’s black, too,” said Bennie ; “ it’s got 
‘ B. B.’ on it too, for my name — Bennie Bryant.” 

Are the letters made out of brass nails ? ” asked 
Bessie. 

“ Yes.” 

‘‘ So’s mine ; they’re just as bright! ” 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


The conversation flagged somewhat after this. 
At last Bessie had a bright idea — something that 
she was sure would make an impression. 

“My mamma’s been to Europe; she went in a 
ship. She staid ten or ’leven years ; left me with 
ganma. I’ve seen a ship. You ever seen one ? ” 

Bennie did not answer this question ; he was busy 
fumbling in the breast of his coat. 

“ I must look at my watch. I want to see what 
time it is.” 

“ My watch ! ” Bessie fairly withered. Had this 
little boy' a real watch like a man’s? It seemed 
quite in keeping with his wonderful adventures, if he 
had. But when the watch appeared she was greatly 
relieved to find that it was only a little brass plate, 
with letters and figures on it. 

“ Pof ! ” said Bessie scornfully ; “ that’s nofiin’ ! 
’Twon’t tick ! I’ve got one that’ll go when you wind 
it up with a key — only the key’s lost.” 

“ But mine’s really a check^'^ said Bennie ; “ it’s to 
get my trunk v^ith when I get to Boston. I must 
give it to the man that meets me, and he’ll get my 
trunk for me.” 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


Will he give it back to you ? asked Bessie, 
much interested. 

Bennie didn’t know. 

Oh, yes ! ” said Bennie ; he’ll give it back when 
I go on again.” 

Just then the conductor called out ‘^Providence ; ” 
and Bennie’s friend came up to say good-by. 

“ Papa,” said Bessie, pulling his sleeve, “ why 
don’t we have checks to buy our trunks with ! ” 

“ Oh, we have ! don’t bother your wise little head 
about that. Pet, I’ve got them in my pocket.” 

“ One for my little trunk, too ? ” 

“ Yes ; and it’s just as big as mine and mamma’s.” 

“ I want it tied in my button-hole for a watch like 
Bennie’s. 

“No, no,” said papa very decidedly ; “you would 
be sure to lose it, and then I couldn’t buy your little 
trunk.” 

Bess put up her lip and prepared for a long, loud 
and copious fit of weeping. 

Papa glanced around the car uneasily. When 
Bess once began to cry, it was hard to stop her ; and 
though at home the rule was that she was never to 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


have what she cried for, she was beginning to realize 
that in the cars, she usually did get what she cried 
for. 

‘‘ She has been so good for the last two hours, 
said papa to mamma, “ that it is a pity to spoil it. 
Suppose r let her have it ? ” 

But mamma was asleep with her head pillowed 
upon a shawl, and she offered no suggestions. 

Papa opened mamma’s satchel and found a piece 
of black ribbon, and taking a check out of his pocket, 
he spoke gravely : 

‘‘ Now, Bessie, if I tie this in your button-hole, 
will you promise not to take it out until we get to 
Boston — not for a minute ? If you do, you will 
lose your trunk, remember.” 

Yes, ma’am, I wont,” said Bessie solemnly. 
She always said ma’am,” when she meant to be 
particularly polite, though she did not always put 
the word in the right place. 

Papa slipped the ribbon through the check, and 
tied it into Bessie’s button-hole with several strong 
knots. 

‘‘There, she can’t get that off, if she tries,” 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


thought he. Then he went into the smoking-car, 
and didn’t come back for two hours. 

It was nearly dark when they reached Boston. 
Lina, Bessie’s Swedish nurse, was standing on the 
door-step watching for them. 

“ Ach ! Miss Bessie,” cried Lina, covering her 
with kisses, you is my little tarling ! Ain’t you 
tirty ! I neve’, neve’, seen you look so pefore.” 

Take Miss Bessie right up stairs,” said mamma. 
“ Give her a good bath, change all her clothes and 
put on her wrapper ; then bring her down to tea. 
I’ll have her trunk carried up to the nursery. Why,, 
how rusty that new trunk looks ! These baggage- 
men are so careless ! ” 

Yes ; Bessie was dirty ! I do not think Lina ‘‘ eve’, 
eve’,” had seen her look so before. The black dust 
had got down her neck, and up her sleeves ; it had 
even got inside of her stockings. 

Lina, who was as methodical as the majority of 
nursery girls are, gave her a thorough washing and 
rubbing, wrapped her in a blanket, and then pro- 
ceeded to open the trunk to take out her clothes. 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


Ach ! this is one hard key to twist/ Mien era* 
cions ! ” Lina started back in dismay as, yielding to 
her efforts, the trunk at last flew open. 

What do you suppose there was in that little 
black trunk ? 

Two nice little sailor suits — jacket and pants 
complete ; one fine gray suit ; twelve pairs of boys’ 
stockings ; a pair of pretty slippers, with fawns’ 
heads on the instep ; a pair of base-ball shoes ; a 
pair of fine kid boots ; a pair of pink-and-white sus- 
penders ; boxes of collars, cuffs and handkerchiefs ; 
six cambric shirts ; four cambric waists ; and under 
all these picture-books, wind-mills, tops and balls 
without number — everything, in short, that a little 
boy could use — but not a sign of any of Bessie’s 
clothes, not a thread of her little blue-and-white 
wrapper. 

“ Why, what in the world ! — ” said mamma, who 
had come in to see if Bessie was dressed, forgetting, 
in her excitement that “ by-words ” are not elegant, 
‘‘ How under the sun did those things get into — but 
Bessie’s trunk was lined with pink paper — this is 
blue — Papa, just come here for a moment ! ” 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


Papa came. He stared helplessly at the trunk for 
one minute ; then he turned to Bessie who sat on the 
floor, peeping out of her blanket. 

“ Bessie ! Did you take that check out of your 
button-hole ? ’’ 

Bess looked solemn. “Me and Bennie changed 
watches^^' she* said at last, falteringly ; “ it was to 
remember each other by — I forgot, papa, truly, truly, 
I did — sides, his was just like mine ! ’’ 

“ Now ! ’’ said papa, bringing down his foot with a 
tremendous stamp, “ do you see what you have done ? 
You have got Bennie’s trunk, and he has got yours.” 

“ William,” said mamma, “ don’t scold her ; it was 
some one else who was careless. Besides, it is not 
as bad as it might be. Do you know Mr. James 
Wilson’s place of business } That was the gentle- 
man’s name, wasn’t it? ” 

Papa rushed to the Directory. 

“ St — t — t — t,” clicked Lina between her teeth ; 
“ Now, Miss Pessie, you gone and lost all your pretty 
clo’es. Now, I’ll have to put on your ni’gown, and 
you’ll have to stay in ped.” 

“ No,” said mamma, laughing, “ it is not quite so 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


bad as that ; but yet it is so near her bed-time, per- 
haps she had better go. She can have her supper 
up here. One of her night-gowns is in my trunk. 

“ Thirty-nine James Wilsons ! said papa, looking 
up from the Directory. ‘‘ How in time am I to know 
which one it is ? ” 

By six o’clock the next evening, papa had seen or 
written to everyone of the James Wilsons; and not 
one of the thirty-nine ever heard of a little boy by 
the name of Bennie Bryant. 

What could it mean ? 

The next day was Sunday, and papa could do 
nothing. On Monday evening, two advertisements 
appeared in the “ Transcript,” the editors having 
obligingly put them together, that they might answer 
each other. 

This is the way they read : 

L OST! — Will the friends of the little girl whose trunk, 
marked “ B. B.” was taken by mistake from the Boston 
and Albany depot, on Friday, communicate, for the advantage 
of both parties, with, 

A. B. C., Transcript Office. 

F ound. — The friends of the little boy whose trunk marked 
“ B. B.” was taken by mistake from the Boston and 
Albany R. R. depot, Friday evening, are requested to commu- 
nicate with, 

X. Y. Z., Transcript Office. 


TWO LITTLE TRUNKS. 


That evening a gentleman called to see Bessie’s 
papa — the gentleman who had met Bennie at the 
depot. His name was not James Wilson, at all, but 
James Clements, he being Mr. Aleck Wilson’s half- 
brother. 

Everybody laughed a great deal during the inter- 
view, now that the trouble was over ; and Bess began 
to think that the whole affair was a very nice joke. 

“ So this is the little girl who forgot her promise,” 
said the gentleman, smiling, as he stroked her head. 

And made all the trouble,” said papa, smiling 
too, though he tried to look stern. 

Then the gentleman told them all about Bennie, 
how he had not even a night-gown out of his trunk, 
but had to wear a long one of Mrs. Clements’s ; and 
how he had to go to bed, like the miser that we read 
of, to have his shirt washed and ironed for Sunday. 

“Well,” said mamma, “I always thought Friday 
was an unlucky day for travelling ; I shall never go 
on a journey on Friday again, if I can help it.” 

But Mr. Clements thought that the children would 
have changed checks just the same if it had been 
Monday or Tuesday. 


HOW THE LITTLE STEAD- 
MANS HAD A GOOD TIME. 


R ena and Carrie Steadman lived in Cincinnati, 
but they were born in Massachusetts, and 
loved Thanksgiving Day as only little New England 
girls can ; and they thought of it all the year through 
with as much pleasure as they thought of Christmas. 
It was pleasant to think, not only of the day itself, 
but of the two or three days before it, for then Mrs. 
Steadman, who always heard their lessons herself, 
gave them a holiday, and went into the kitchen and 
helped to make the good things for the dinner. Rena 
and Carrie were allowed to h^p — to stone raisins 
and pare apples, and chop the mince ; and every 
one looked so happy and busy, and there was such a 
baking and boiling and steaming and stirring, and 
such a good smell in the kitchen of spices and pas- 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS^ GOOD TIME. 


try, that Thanksgiving Day seemed to extend from 
Tuesday morning till Thursday night. 

Then it was so nice, when the day really came, to 
have their dear papa sit down before the fire in his 
dressing-gown and slippers after breakfast, just as he 
did Sundays, instead of hurrying off to business ; and 
the story that he told them before church-time was 
always a part of Thanksgiving Day. Then the walk- 
ing to church was another treat, for then their papa 
would explain to them how Thanksgiving Day came 
to be, or tell them of some Thanksgiving Day in his 
own childhood ; and in church, although they were 
too little to understand very much of the sermon, 
they enjoyed the beautiful music, and loved to think 
that they had come to church to thank their Heavenly 
Father for all His care through the year. Then 
walking from church with their uncle and aunt and 
cousins (who always dined with them Thanksgiving 
Day, because they had the biggest parlors for the 
after-dinner frolic). And then the dinner — the two 
big turkeys, the chicken pie — the everything so nice. 
After that the games, one coming after another, till 
the winter daylight faded, and the gas was lighted^ 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS' GOOD TIME. 


and still game after game, papa and mamma, uncle 
and aunt playing with the children till nine o'clock ! 
That was very late for Rena and Carrie, for they 
always went to bed at seven o'clock on other nights ; 
and after all else, the happy, sleepy undressing, with 
mamma to kiss them and tuck them in, and Thanks- 
giving Day was over ! Do you wonder that they 
loved to think of it? 

But one autumn, when Rena was ten and Carrie 
eight years old, early in October their mamma became 
very ill, and for many days the doctors thought she 
could not live ; but after much suffering and pain she 
finally grew better, and by the first of November was 
able to be bolstered up in bed and see the little girls 
for a while each day ; and in two weeks more, she sat 
in a rocking-chair, and began to move slowly about 
her room. One evening, as the little girls sat in 
their father's lap, one on each knee, he said, 

“ I am sorry, my little girls, that you will lose your 
Thanksgiving frolic and dinner this year. Of course 
you will have to, for the new cook that has come since 
mamma was sick, knows very little, and could not get 
dinner without mamma, and she will not be strong 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS’ GOOD TIME. 


enough to come down-stairs to eat, or see you play, 
even if the cook could get along without her ; but you 
will really have a better Thanksgiving than you have 
ever had, for you will know better than you ever did 
before, what a real Thanksgiving out of your hearts 
is, when you look at mamma almost well again.” 

Of course Rena and Carrie felt sorry to lose the 
fun that they always had ; but they really felt, as their 
papa said, so joyful and thankful for their mamma, 
that they didn’t mind. 

But the next day, as soon as their papa went to his 
business, their mamma sent for them. They went 
quickly, wondering what mamma could want so early, 
for it was generally ten o’clock before they were sent 
for. They found her already sitting up in her wrap- 
per, with paper and pencil, and her purse. She 
smiled as they came in, and said, 

“ Little girls, I have a plan : I want to surprise 
papa, and you must help me. We will have a real 
Thanksgiving dinner up here in my room, and quiet 
games after it, you shall get the dinner ! 

And it shall all be a secret and surprise to papa ! ” 
Oh, how happy Rena and Carrie were ! too happy 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS’ GOOD TIME. 


at first to wonder what their mamma could mean by 
their getting the dinner ; but in a minute their ques- 
tions came fast enough : 

“ Why, mamma, how can we get the dinner ? ” 

Who will teach us to cook ? ’’ “ Where will we get 

the things ? ’’ “ How can we have dinner up here ? 

There isn’t any table.” 

One after the other the questions came without 
stopping, till their mamma laughed and said, 

“ There, there ! stop a minute and listen to me ; 
it can all be done if we don’t get into a hurry. 
Thanksgiving comes the twenty-ninth — this is the 
twenty-second ; that gives us six days besides Sun- 
day. Now I have written down everything that is 
first needed at the grocer’s and market : you can take 
the paper to Betsey and tell her to get the things as 
soon as she has finished her work ; and when they 
come you may let me know.” 

Away ran the little girls, still wondering what their 
mamma could mean by their getting the dinner, but 
knowing that they must not ask too many questions. 
Betsey was the chambermaid, a bright, willing girl, 
and she hurried through her work, and soon came iri 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS^ GOOD TIME. 

from market and grocery with a piece of beef, a piece 
of suet,* a little bucket of sweet cider, and a paper of 
raisins ; and after her came the market-man with a 
bushel of rosy apples. 

Up ran the little girls to their mamma, who said. 
Now tell Mary (the cook) to boil the meat slowly 
till it is tender, and then put it away to cool; and 
then come back to me and bring the raisins and a 
bowl, and the chopping-bowl and knife, and the knife 
that Mary peels apples with, and tell Betsey to come 
with you with a basket of apples.’^ 

It was a pretty long message, but they remembered 
it all, and were soon back in their mamma’s room 
with all the things. 

‘‘Now, little girls,” said she, “sit down quietly, 
and I will tell you just what we will do. I am quite 
well, only not strong, and it won’t hurt me any to 
have you in the room several hours at a time if you 
will not talk too much. I can show you so that by 
doing a little each day, you can make all the mince, 
mix the pumpkin, and peel and cut the apples, for 
mince, apple, and pumpkin pies. Then you can 
make the stuffing, and stuff the turkey. We will get 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS GOOD TIME. 


along this year without any pudding or chicken pie, 
and have just a turkey and vegetables and three 
kinds of pie. You are too little to make pie-crust ; 
but I will have Mary bring the things up here and I 
will show her how to make enough crust for two pies 
of each kind. Then when Thanksgiving Day comes, 
while papa is at church Mary and Betsey will bring 
the two kitchen tables up-stairs, and as they are just 
of a size, they can be put together and make one 
long one, and we will have dinner just ready to put 
on when papa comes in from church.’’ 

Rena and Carrie listened with their eyes bright 
with happiness, and as soon as their mamma finish- 
ed speaking, asked both together, “ When may we 
begin ? ” 

Right away,” said Mrs. Steadman. You, Rena, 
can peel those apples and cut them off the cores, 
and you, Carrie, can. stone the raisins.” 

The little girls went right to work, and by dinner- 
time had the apples peeled and chopped, and the 
raisins stoned for the mince. 

That was Thursday. Friday they chopped the 
meat and the suet : that was slow work, for it had to 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS’ GOOD TIME. 


be, oh, so fine ; but they took turns at the chopping- 
bowl, and before dinner had it all done. 

Saturday they ground and measured the spices 
and mixed the mince, and put it away finished. Oh, 
how happy they felt ! 

But they were almost afraid to say a word before 
their papa, for they thought all the time so much 
about their wonderful secret that they were very 
much afraid that they would say it out without 
thinking. So every night, as soon as they heard 
the front door shut, Rena would say, ‘‘Remember ! 
and Carrie would say, reme^nber and then 

they would run to meet him. 

One night Carrie came very near saying, “Thanks- 
giving will be so nice in mamma’s room ; ” but she 
had only said “ Tha ” — when Rena gave her such a 
punch, and off she cut it right there with only a weak 
little “ a-a ”-to finish it off with ; and then they both 
began to laugh so that they had to stuff their hand- 
kerchiefs into their mouths and get around behind 
their papa’s chair to keep from being seen. Oh, it 
was a happy week ! 

Monday they could not work, for Mary was too 


IHE LITTLE STEADMANS GOOD TIME. 


busy with her washing to have them running through 
the kitchen. 

But early Tuesday morning they begun to peel the 
big yellow pumpkin that the market-man brought 
Saturday night ; Mary quartered it for them and took 
out the seeds, and then they took two quarters of it 
up-stairs, and one did one and one the other; and 
when it was all cut in pieces they took it down to 
Mary to stew. Then when it was tender they took it 
up-stairs again with the sieve and a big dish, and 
eggs and an egg-beater, and Carrie strained the 
pumpkin while Rena beat the eggs. Then their 
mamma told them just how much milk to put in, 
and how much sugar and spice ; and the pumpkin 
too was ready for pies. 

They set it away in a cool place over night, and 
Wednesday they peeled and cut the apples for apple 
pies, and sat by watching while mamma showed 
Mary how to make the crust. Mary, although she did 
not know much about cooking, was a good-tempered, 
kind girl, and was almost as happy in the children’s 
secret as they were themselves, so she did not mind 
having to carry her baking things up-stairs. It was late 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS' GOOD TIME. 


Wednesday afternoon before the turkey was stuffed, 
but it was at last done, and mamma's room nicely 
set to rights before papa came in. Rena and Carrie 
were so certain they should tell their secret if they were 
long with their papa, that they ran off to bed right 
after supper and were soon asleep. 

The next morning they were up bright and early, 
and the minute they were dressed, ran to the pantry 
to look at the row of pies — their pies — and the big 
turkey they had stuffed, lying in the pan with his 
legs tied together ready to go into the oven. “ Oh, 
isn^t it nice ! " said Rena ; “ won't papa be happy, 
though ! " 

‘‘ And won't he, though !" said Carrie. 

Papa's story was just as nice that morning as 
usual, but the little girls' heads and hearts were so 
full that every little while they would forget the story 
and be wondering if the girls could get the tables 
up-stairs, and if everything would be ready in 
time. 

But the story came to an end, and so did the 
pleasant church service, and the walk home ; and 
then — Rena's heart beat so fast that she could 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS^ GOOD TIME. 


hardly speak, and little Carrie kept squeezing her 
hand while their papa got out his latch-key. 

“ Mamma is so welV’ said he, ‘‘ that I think we 
can have some little games in her room after din- 
ner. I wonder if poor Mary has tried anything 
extra in honor of the day. I did not dare send a 
turkey from market, for I knew she would make it 
into hash or something as bad. When I get off my 
coat we will go up and see how dear mamma is.^^ 

Yes, sir,’’ said Rena, trying to speak naturally, 
and pulling Carrie with her up-stairs — just one peep 
into mamma’s room before papa came up to see if 
everything was right. Yes, the table was all set, and 
mamma in a pretty new blue wrapper, and a lace 
breakfast cap with blue ribbons, looking so pretty. 
They had only time to see this and get the door 
shut again, when papa come up-stairs and went 
into the room with them. Oh, you should have seen 
his face ! such a surprised look ! And so pleased ! 
And then, when mamma told him who made the 
mince, and fixed the pumpkin and apples, and 
stuffed the turkey, how he kissed his little girls ! 
Then how fast they talked, and told him how many 



WHAT A SURPRISE IT ALT WILL BE ! ’^ 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS* GOOD TIME. 


times they had nearly let the secret out, and how 
once, when he came home a little earlier to dinner, 
they had to stuif the chopping-bowl into the closet 
with his boots, to get it out of sight ; and how once 
mamma herself came near letting him know, and 
ever so much more, till their mouths were so stuffed 
with dinner that they had to stop talking. 

Then after dinner they played Proverbs, and 
“We*ve thought of a word that rhymes,” and other 
quiet plays. And the games were not so quiet after 
all, for they all laughed so, and mamma as much as 
any of them, and best of all it never made her a bit 
worse, but she was so well in a few days that she 
drove out; and the children after that would say, 
that Thanksgiving always was nice but ‘‘mamma’s 
Thanksgiving ” was nicest of all. 


HOW THE LITTLE STEAD- 
MANS SPENT CHRISTMAS. 


I HAVE just told you how the little Steadman 
girls spent Thanksgiving Day. Now I am going 
to tell you how they spent the very next Christmas. 

They had enjoyed, so much, working themselves to 
make Thanksgiving pleasant, that they wanted very 
much to do something themselves to make the com- 
ing Christmas enjoyable in the same way. Before 
all the other Christmases that they could remember, 
they had thought a great deal about what they were 
going to get. But this year they determined it 
should be quite different. 

The way they came to think about it was this: 
They were walking to school together the Monday 
after Thanksgiving, each with a piece of the mince 
pie they had made, in a little basket to eat at recess, 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS^ CHRISTMAS. 


and they were talking of what a happy time they 
had had. 

think/^ said Rena, “it was the very nicest 
Thanksgiving we ever had — wasn't it fun to see 
papa’s face when he found all we’d done ? ” 

“ Wasn’t it, though ! ” said Carrie. “ I’ll tell you 
what ! Let’s do something just splendid to surprise 
him at Christmas too.” 

“ Let’s ! ” exclaimed Rena. “ Let’s save all our 
money and buy him a new pair of slippers — I’ve 
two ten cents and a quarter — how much have 
you?” 

“ I’ve three five cents, and a ten cents, and my 
quarter with a hole through it : but I guess that won’t 
make any difference. Do you think we can get a 
nice pair for that ? ” 

“ Oh dear, no,” sighed Rena ; “ for I just remember 
now seeing mamma pay for my last pair of shoes, 
and I know it was more than that — what shall we 
get?” 

“ Mamma’ll know,” said Carrie. 

So, as soon as school was out, they both came to 
mamma to talk the whole thing over. She agreed 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS^ CHRISTMAS. 


with them that they would enjoy their Christmas 
more if they did something for papa ; but the thing 
was to think what they could get. Mr. Steadman 
didn^t smoke, so they couldn^t give a cigar-stand or 
smoking-cap ; and all the other things they could 
think of either cost too much or were too hard to 
make. Finally Mrs. Steadman began to smile to 
herself. Carrie shouted at that : 

JVow I know mamma has thought of something 1 
What is it, mamma — what is it ? 

Mamma laughed then. 

“ I really don’t know whether I have thought of any- 
thing or not — the thing I have in mind is such a 
very funny thing for a present, but I know it will 
please papa more than anything else you could 
do.” 

‘‘Tell us — what is it?” cried both children 
together. 

“ Would you like to make something, every stitch 
yourselves, that papa could wear, and every time he 
put it on, think of the love and patience of his little 
daughters ? ” 


Yes, indeed ! Yes, indeed !” 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS’ CHRISTMAS. 


“ But it will take two half-hours of every day 
between now and Christmas — maybe more than 
that — for four weeks ! If you begin, will you stick 
to it and finish ? ” 

“ Indeed we will ; what is it ? ” 

“ Well, then — it’s a nightshirt ! ” 

Both the little girls’ faces looked sober at that. 
They had thought about neck comforters, and mit- 
tens, and wristlets and things made out of pretty, 
bright worsteds; but just a plain white nightshirt 
was so ugly — and then, as mamma said, it was such 
a funny thing for a present. Neither of them spoke. 
Mamma watched their solemn little faces for a 
minute, and then said : 

‘‘ The reason I thought papa would be especially 
pleased by that was, that it would show three things : 
that you were really learning how to sew ; that you 
were learning patience and perseverance ; that your 
love wasn’t all just hugs and kisses, but that you 
were willing to do what was not very pleasant to 
show it. I have been intending, as soon as baby 
was a few weeks older, to begin giving you regular 
sewing lessons afternoons; for next y^2iX you will not 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS^ CHRISTMAS. 


get out of school at twelve, and there won’t be so 
much time ; and while we have the time we must 
make the most of it. You must both know how to 
sew, and the long straight seams and hems on a 
night-shirt will be splendid to learn on. I will cut 
and baste them, and sit with you both all the time 
you sew, and you shall put in every stitch your own 
selves, and I will only put in the gussets and make 
the button-holes. You can think about it till to- 
night, and then, if you want to do it, we will begin 
to-morrow.” 

The little girls’ faces had been brightening, and 
now they exclaimed almost together, ‘‘Mamma, we 
needn’t wait ! we want to do it.” 

The plan was to work every afternoon two half- 
hours, with an hour between to play. 

So the next day they began. Day after day they 
worked. When the first half-hour was passed, and 
Rena had only sewed a finger’s length of a seam, 
and Carrie had had to rip out all she had done, they 
were both ready to sit down and cry and give it all 
up ; but their mamma comforted them, and told 
them it would go better the next half-hour — and 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS’ CHRISTMAS. 


SO it did. Carrie did all she had had to rip, and as 
much more, and did it so well that Mrs. Steadman 
said she was surprised at the improvement ; and Rena 
did nearly half as much again as the first half-hour. 

So the days passed till the day before Christmas. 
Some days the work went hard, and the little girls 
were disheartened, and then again it went so smoothly 
that it surprised even themselves. 

And now the day before Christmas had come ; 
and there the shirts lay, spread out in the sun 
for the indelible ink-mark of papa’s name to dry. 
Mamma had put in the gussets and made the 
button-holes the evening before, and all that was 
left to do was to fold them up and label them. 
Mamma had made two big labels, as big as her 
hand, and written in big letters like this : 


RENA MADE 


CARRIE MADE 

THIS FOR A CHRIST- 


THIS FOR A CHRIST- 

MAS PRESENT FOR 


MAS PRESENT FOR 

HER PAPA. 


HER PAPA. 


And as soon as the marking was dry, she made 
the shirts into two flat, neat paper bundles and 
pasted the labels on. 






THE LITTLE STEADMANS’ CHRISTMAS. 


The little girls had been so busy and happy mak- 
ing the shirts, that they really had almost forgotten 
that they were to have gifts ; and now that the shirts 
were done it was harder to wait for the time to 
give them than to wait for their own presents. 
Their mamma let them spend the afternoon look- 
ing through the gay shops, and that helped the 
time to pass faster ; and finally bedtime came, and 
then morning again — Christmas morning ! 

Rena woke first, and wasn’t long in getting Carrie 
awake too, and out they jumped, before it was fairly 
light, to get their stockings from the mantel, then 
back into bed softly, taking their stockings with 
them to wait till they heard mother up in her room. 

As soon as there was a stir in the next room 
they called out a “ Merry Christmas,” and dressed 
in a hurry for breakfast. I expect most of the 
children who read this story have a Christmas-tree ; 
but Rena and Carrie never had one. It was very 
hard to get a tree where they lived, for there were 
hardly any evergreens ; so they had a plan that 
mamma made up, that they thought was ever so 
much nicer, for the fun lasted so much longer than 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS’ CHRISTMAS. 


when the things were all spread out at once on a 
tree. All the presents were done up in paper the 
night before, and labelled and put into a big 
clothes-basket and covered with a sheet ; and when 
all the family were gathered after breakfast, it was 
brought to mamma’s seat and she distributed the 
presents, lifting a corner of the sheet, and drawing 
out one bundle at a time. She always read the 
label saying who the present was from, and who it 
was for, and then the one that it belonged to opened 
it while the rest gathered around to admire. As there 
were several uncles and aunts who sent in presents too, 
it sometimes took nearly two hours to empty the basket. 

This morning, at breakfast, Rena and Carrie were 
even more excited and happy than usual on Christ- 
mas mornings, and twice they got to looking at 
each other and giggling so that if it had been any 
other morning they would have been in danger of 
being sent from table ; as it was, their papa thought, 
‘‘ Those children have surely got a peep at the little 
bureau and bedstead ; I thought I’d hidden them.” 

The little girls didn’t want much breakfast, and 
it seemed to them that papa and mamma were very 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS’ CHRISTMAS. 


hungry ; out finally they laid their knives and forks 
down, and they all went into the parlor. There 
stood the basket, waiting for them, and beside it 
something covered up that was too big to go in. 
Mamma knew that the little girls would not half 
enjoy their own presents till after papa had had 
his, so she had put the two shirts near the top 
of the basket. Papa^s eyes were on the little girls, 
and his thoughts quite absorbed in their happiness, 
when his ear caught the words, “ Carrie made this 
for a Christmas present for her papa.^’ And while 
he was turning with a look of surprise on his face, 
mamma took the other bundle out and read, ‘‘ Rena 
made this for a Christmas present for her papa,” 
and then handed him both bundles together. How 
the two little girls watched his face! and what a 
face it was to watch ! Pleased — then, as he un- 
rolled the shirts, puzzled — then a look as if he 
thought he must have heard wrong — then an excla- 
mation, “ Why, mamma 1 did you say the children 
made these ? ” Then mamma’s answer, “ Every stitch, 
except the gussets and button-holes.” Then the 
pleased look again in his face ; then (as he looked 


THE LITTLE STEADMANS CHRISTMAS. 


at the little careful stitches, with the thread some- 
times rubbed dirty, and here and there a tiny little 
speck of blood from a finger-prick) the pleased look 
mixed up with a queer little look about his mouth 
they had never seen, and his eyes filled, and — 
papa was crying ! at any rate a tear got as far down 
as his nose, but then he took out his handkerchief 
and wiped his nose and the tear, all at once. 

Dear me — they were so bursting with happiness 
they almost wanted to leave the rest of Christmas 
and run off by themselves; but they were brought 
to their senses by mamma’s voice, ‘‘ Carrie, from 
mamma,” and ‘‘Rena, from mamma.” They took 
the bundles and untied them, and there were two 
beautiful little work-baskets, with needle-book and 
scissors and thimbles — silver thimbles — they had 
been sewing with brass ones. 

So the emptying of the basket went on, and at 
the last came the things by the basket, which proved 
to be a bedstead just big enough for their dolls, 
and a bureau for their dolls’ clothes. They were 
both beautiful; but it wasn’t as nice to get them 
as to give papa the shirts. 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


I T was the day before my grandmamma’s wedding- 
day. I do not pretend to have any personal 
recollection of the occasion, but 1 have seen a picture 
of my grandmamma painted a short time before; and, 
to do her justice, a prettier or more graceful maiden 
it has never been my pleasure to behold. She 
looked a little like the pictures we se^ of England’s 
queen in her girlhood; but — yes, I must say it — 
prettier, and far more elaborately dressed. 

We read a great deal about the simplicity of those 
early times, but the reports of the great court-balls at 
which the gentlemen wore wigs, curled and powdered, 
waistcoats with laced flaps, knee-breeches with silver 
or paste buckles, ruffled shirts and colored silk 
stockings ; while the ladies wore stiff brocades and 
pointed waists, farthingales, slippers with heels three 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


inches high and turned-up toes, and displayed quanti- 
ties of rich lace, convince at least me that the sim- 
plicity was chiefly mythical. 

My grandmamma never went to a court-ball, but 
she felt very grand nevertheless, with her wedding 
finery spread out around her. The great hair-cov- 
ered trunk, as roomy as a modern Saratoga, and far 
more clumsy, stood in her room filled with rich 
clothing, while three large deal boxes in the hall were 
stored with household goods, all of home manufacture, 
and chiefly the work of grandmamma’s own hands; 
piles of blankets as soft and white as snow ; patch- 
work quilts which grandmamma’s patient fingers had 
begun to ‘‘piece” when she was five years old; yards 
of table damask, and dozens of snowy napkins orna- 
mented with bunches of gay flowers. 

On the bed lay grandmamma’s crowning work — a 
dress of white linen which she herself had spun, 
woven, bleached, embroidered all over with bunches 
of raised flowers, and then cut, fitted and made up in 
the most approved style. I have a piece of that 
dress now, and I think I would be a queer figure in 
it ; but grandmamma viewed it with great satisfaction, 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


and, when she was ninety-five years of age, spoke of 
it as a great achievement to have spun such fine linen. 

The wonder is how one pair of hands could find 
time to do so much ; but grandmamma did not have 
to practise upon the piano for three hours every day, 
she was innocent of differential calculus and conic 
sections; nor did she know that cosmos was evolved 
from' matter. But in spite of all these disadvantages, 
my grandmamma was an accomplished young lady, 
though I am not sure that her grammar and spelling 
were always above criticism ; for besides all her spin- 
ning and weaving, she was an excellent horsewoman, 
and could paint a sky-blue dog on a yellow-satin foot- 
stool so naturally that you would hesitate about put- 
ting your foot on it. 

But it was not to discuss my grandmamma’s ac- 
complishments that I took up my pen this morning; 
it was to tell you what my grandmamma did the day 
before her wedding-day, and you will probably say that 
it was not worth going through all this description, 
for Grandmamma was packing her work-basket pre- 
paratory to putting it into her trunk, when she missed 
her embroidery scissors. After looking for them for 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


some time, she remembered that Millicent Hunt, who 
was to be her bridesmaid, had taken them home to 
finish a band which she was embroidering for 
grandmamma, and had not returned them when she 
brought the band. 

“Very likely Millicent will forget them altogether,’’ 
said grandmamma to herself; “why shouldn’t I go 
over and get them ? ” 

You see, grandmamma thought a great deal of 
those little scissors, partly because they were of very 
dainty workmanship, and partly because Fred Blake 
— I mean grandpapa — had given them to her. 

But why should grandmamma not go for. them? 
The way to Millicent’s house was just down the 
garden path, through a little gate which separated the 
two gardens, and then up the path to Mrs. Hunt’s 
back porch ; for grandmamma never thought of such 
a thing as going to the front door. Why did she hes- 
itate ? Why did she steal softly down-stairs, take her 
cottage-bonnet down from its peg, hide it behind, 
step softly to the door of the sitting-room where her 
mamma sat at work, and then turn around and hang 
her bonnet up again, resolving that she wouldn’t go ? 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


Why, you must know that my dear little sixteen- 
year-old grandmamma had never in her life gone be- 
yond the boundary-fence of that little garden without 
her mother’s permission, and this was the problem 
which troubled her soul : should or should not she, 
a young lady on the eve of her wedding-day, go and 
ask her mother if she might go into the next neighbor’s 
house ? If she did, she might be laughed at ; but if 
she did not, great-grandmamma might be surprised 
and grieved ; and never having grieved that precious 
mother by undutiful conduct, she did not wish to be- 
gin now. Besides, habit was strong; and to pass 
through 'that gate without permission really seemed 
more of a venture that to pass from maidenhood into 
matrimony with the full consent and blessing of both 
her parents. 

But grandmamma wanted her scissors; I think she 
also wanted one more walk through those two gar- 
dens, and she knew that it would never do for her to 
go on her wedding-day ; that was not to be thought of. 

Grandmamma tripped down-stairs and took down 
her bonnet once more. She had resolved to go into 
the sitting-room and say carelessly, “Mother, I’m 


What grandmamma did. 


going over to Millicent’s to get my scissors’’ — that 
compromise between dignity and respect for parental 
authority which independent young ladies were just 
beginning to make. 

But the habits of a lifetime were too strong for 
grandmamma, and after all, the old form fell from her 
lips : 

Mother, may I go over to Millicent’s and get my 
scissors?” 

Without raising her eyes from her work, great- 
grandmamma nodded, and said, ‘‘yes,” in just the 
matter-of-course tone which she would have used to a 
child five years old ; and grandmamma, hiding her 
blushing face in the depths of her sun-bonnet, 
hurried away with such a mingled sense of relief and 
mortification that she never forgot it. I do not think 
great-grandmamma ever thought of it as anything but 
perfectly natural that her daughter should have asked 
her permission. I do not think she would have un- 
derstood the struggle had grandma told it to her, 
half as well as I did when she told it to me, seventy 
years afterwards. 

Grandmamma opened Millicent’s door for herself, 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 

as was her custom, and, as there was no one in sight, 
walked unceremoniously through the kitchen, dining- 
room and hall, up-stairs. 

She found her intended bridesmaid the picture of 
distress, sitting on the floor beside a box containing 
her costume for the eventful night, which had just 
arrived from the nearest port in a canoe ; for this was 
in one of the British Provinces, away up the St. John 
river, before any of the steamboats or railways were 
built, when the rivers were used as highways. 

Mary Welles!” cried Millicent, as grand- 
mamma appeared, ‘‘ I can never stand up with you in 
this world 1 ” 

‘‘Why! What’s the matter.?” 

“ Matter enough ! Just look ! ” 

Millicent held up one silk-stockinged foot from the 
toe of which hung a dainty white satin slipper. The 
foot was small and shapely, but the slipper was 
smaller still; and though one girl tugged while the 
other squeezed, it wouldn't go on. 

“What else have you?” asked grandmamma, as 
they stopped in hopeless exhaustion. 

“Nothing but my patent-leather shoes, and they’re 


i -T; 



IT wouldn’t go on J 
























WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


black. I can’t pos — si — bly sta — and up;” and 
poor Millicent burst into tears. 

•‘Yes, you can,” said grandmamma resolutely; 
“stop crying; you’ll spoil your eyes and complexion! 
Isn’t there some white satin left of that dress your 
mother wore at Governm.ent House ball ? ” 

Millicent reflected. 

“No; but there’s a white satin waistcoat of 
father’s that I can have ; he only wore it twice ; it’s 
too small for him now.” 

“ Let me see it.” 

Millicent brought the waistcoat, and then — will 
you believe it? — my grandmamma whisked her 
scissors out of Millicent’s work-basket, and auda- 
ciously proceeded to cut up those lovely satin slippers. 
First she ripped off the pretty rosettes with their 
mother-of-pearl buckles, then down the back seam to 
the high heels, and lastly she cut off the satin all 
around, leaving only a narrow strip along the sole. 

“Mary Welles!” cried Millicent in dismay, “what 
are you going to do ? ” 

By way of reply, grandmamma drew a slipper on a 
piece of white paper, using the satin one as a pattern. 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


but making it half an inch larger all around. 

There ! ” said grandmamma, “ don’t you see ? We 
must use these soles, and have the uppers large 
enough to make up for the smallness. Put your foot 
on that sole, and let me see if it fits.” 

It did fit perfectly, as Millicent acknowledged 
with grateful tears in her eyes; and grandmamma cut 
out a pair of slippers from the discarded white waist- 
coat, and giving one to Millicent and taking the other 
herself, proceeded to bind it with white satin ribbon 
which opportunely turned up among the wedding 
finery. 

Mary!” said Millicent, “how clever you are! 
I really believe there is nothing that you cannot do ! ” 
“Don’t you wish we had a machine that would 
make a pair of slippers in ten minutes } ” said grand- 
mamma, ignoring the compliment. 

“Who knows but there may be one invented some 
day ! ” said Millicent ; and both girls laughed merrily 
at the absurdity of the idea. 

Well, those girls worked like machines. I do not 
think you ever saw fingers fly as theirs did. I do not 
expect to be believed, but at the end of an hour, 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


Millicent had a pair of slippers fit for the bride her- 
self. Indeed, grandmamma thought they were rather 
prettier than hers. 

Grandmamma’s wedding went off beautifully. The 
bride “looked lovely,” everybody said, in her rich 
sky-blue silk, made with a pointed waist, with low 
neck and short sleeves, and trimmed with real old 
Valenciennes lace. Her neck was adorned with a rich 
brocade scarf of soft harmonious green and blue, 
which reached nearly to her feet, and encircled with 
a string of virgin pearls; and literally, “in pearls 
and roses gleaming,” my grandmamma presented her 
finger to be encircled by the wedding ring which she 
herself had seen cut from a guinea. I will not 
attempt to describe the great wedding-supper, nor to 
tell how they danced until midnight the stately 
minuets and the graceful contra-dances, w'inding up 
with a cotillon, which, as it had only lately come 
into favor, and but few of the guests could dance it, 
was considered a very brilliant feature indeed. I 
may as well tell you, though, that the shoe-buckles 
which great-grandpapa wore on the occasion were 
afterwards made into a pair of sugar-tongs, which. 


WHAT GRANDMAMMA DID. 


being presented to the bride, are still preserved in 
the family as a precious heirloom. I told you that 
the story was hardly worth telling; but don’t you 
think that mine was a sweet, as well as a clever little 
grandmamma, and deserved to have her story told ? 



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